Shout Out to the Tribeless

 

Pop Culture glorifies the “freak flag” and the “untouchables”, but they brand it with beautiful people that everyone adores. If your genuine interests line up with what is currently trending, you’re labelled “basic”. If you’re anything else, it is assumed that you are desperate for attention and approval.  It’s true what they say: “You can’t please everyone”.  You’ll always be too much for someone, and you’ll always be not enough for someone else. What happens when you’re too much for most people though? What if you’ve been told time and again that you’re not enough for this world?

Shout out to the cry-baby surrounded by calloused people demanding that they “toughen up”. Shout out to the frank and the honest, surrounded by sensitive people insisting that they censor and mute their truths.

Shout out to the people who take selfies even though the world wants to frame them as narcissists. Never mind the fact that narcissism and vanity are two separate things entirely; one describes a person who honestly believes they are grander than everyone else and that the world revolves around them and their interests, while the other is just a personality trait of someone who enjoys and indulges in their own outward appearance. A small amount of vanity, in moderation, can be an invaluable tool for people who grew up being told they weren’t attractive. This type of social ostracization at a young age generally lends way to an adulthood riddled with body dysmorphia and low self esteem – two of the leading causes of suicide in young people.

Shout out to the new mother who doesn’t seem to fit in with any other parents. I see you crumbling under the pressure. I hear the casual moms saying you’re too uptight, accusing you of spoiling your child, calling you “sanctimommy”. I hear the crunchy moms criticizing how you installed your car seat, how you got your picky child to eat lunch, how you raised your voice that one time, how you aren’t ‘conscious’  or ‘aware’ enough for them. I see you up at night, sick to your stomach, crying, wondering: “Is this post partum depression? Or do I feel guilty because I know I’m a horrible mother?” God forbid you turn to the internet for validation or support – they’ll only confirm your anxiety’s ugly, unforgiving narrative.

It’s lonely to be a human being. Loneliness can stifle the will to live. Lack of connection can really harden the heart, or squeeze it until it bursts. Rejection and isolation breed insecurity, self-loathing, and desperation, which are considered socially undesirable behaviors. Being suicidal is a stigma on its own, leaving the lonely even lonelier, the aliens further alienated, the untouchable colder and emptier than ever. It can feel like nobody wants to see us. It’s easy to buy into the belief that echoes around us, bouncing off the walls of our worlds: “You’re the only one. No one else knows what it’s like. Nobody would miss you if you were gone.”

The echoes are wrong, though. The “too much” and “not enough” of this world are scattered amongst the general public, the mouths of our hearts agape and gasping for any love, our cold hands outstretched, hoping to get a handful of someone who likes us for who we actually are, and not who we pretend to be.

Shout out to everyone who has tasted what it feels like to be their true self only to be mocked, criticized, and pressured back into hiding.

I see you.

 

 

 

Fibby’s Hair-Growing-Out SAGA!

WOH! Exciting!!!

Not really. It’s the same old story told time and time again – I’m addicted to ruining my hair. Really though. Bleaching, cutting, dying synthetic colors, straightening, blow drying … you name it, I’m addicted to it.

 

childhood

It started with my childhood; I was a blue eyed babe with thick wavy blonde locks that were enviable even at the age of 3. Nobody could believe my waist-length braids in grade school.

I, however, loathed the heavy, slow-drying, thick, frizzy, unmanageable mass that was constantly straining my neck and scalp, and was forever begging my parents to let me cut my hair. When I was 10 they let me cut it shoulder length.

 

 

Then came ….. THE CHOP!!!!!!!!!

 

Through college I cut and dyed it myself, with the general philosophy of : “I am a wild unpredictable rainbow and hair isn’t real and who cares so WOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”

That ended quickly and I longed for my hair back. For MANY years I’ve been trying to grow it back out. And I keep getting stuck here :

med 3

 

Right at my shoulders.

For some reason at this length growth seemed to stand still. I’d get so frustrated after perpetual months of my hair not changing at ALL. I didn’t realize, at the time, that my hair was growing after all – it was just becoming so damaged that the ends were breaking off before it could get anywhere!

 

 

So for the past year on and off I’ve been trying different variants of oils, wash methods, no ‘poo (no commercial shampoos or conditioners, which is what I’ve more or less settled on), treatments, inversion massage therapy, protective hairstyles etc. And with the support of my husband over the last 2 years I’ve grown my hair from just under the ears to the dreaded SHOULDER LENGTH stage during which I always cave and cut my hair.

 

 

So when my youngest daughter (of 3) was about to be born and I was feeling extra feminine and matronly, I made a vow – I would not cut or chemically color my hair until her first birthday. One year, leaving the split ends, not bleaching, not dying crazy colors. I would only allow myself free reign over my bangs, and would only color with henna (natural, and strengthening to the hair shaft).

I am now 6 months in and so far so good! Here’s my progress :

 

 

It may not seem like much, but there are all kinds of layers in the back that have grown out, I’ve trimmed my bangs twice since the first photo, and my hair is substantially healthier from multiple henna treatments and better wash methods.

So we’ll see if I ever get the mermaid locks of my dreams. On this blog I’ll be sharing different no ‘poo methods, hair tricks and tips, etc. And of course on my daughter’s first birthday, I’ll be checking in on my hair length. I’m hoping it’ll be BSL (bra strap length) by then!

 

Love and Light,

Fibby~