The Real Reason I Dyed My Hair Blue at Age 36.
The real reason I dyed my hair blue at age 36 isn’t what many people assumed.
It wasn’t because rainbow hair colors are in. (I’m such a big dork that I hadn’t realized blue was the newest hair trend until after I’d already made the plunge.)
It wasn’t because I’m having a momlife crisis. (While I do sometimes feel like running away from home, I have a lot of freedom in my life as a mother and writer and a wife.)
I dyed my hair blue for one reason, besides the simple reality that I felt like it, and because it’s fun–my kids.
How am I supposed to teach these fragile, resilient children they are perfection just as they are if I don’t also display to them my love for my own individuality? Dying my hair neon blue is such a clear, visual example to my daughters that beauty doesn’t have to look like a magazine cover, or even an idea of what they slowly become molded to think women should be, or look like.
My kids are only 5 and 1. To be fair, I don’t have teenagers that would be mortified. Rather, my girls match their clothes to my blue hair, and my oldest is completely obsessed with having everything blue now.
One day my kids were…not being easy. I’d dealt with a lot of poopy diapers, and whining, and my normally pretty cool children were driving me up the wall.
I went into my daughter’s room to grab yet another diaper, and while closing the closet door, I got a glimpse of bright blue hair in the mirror. I grinned. My shoulders relaxed. This tiny appearance of my blue hair reminded me in a brief second that I’m a unique person outside of changing diapers and loving two tiny people; outside of my marriage and my family and my normal, daily life.
It reminded me to smile–of the freedom in lightening up a little. It reminded me that we are all extraordinary people living extraordinary lives, at least in some small way–we are all special, and our lives are purposeful–and they should have glimmers of fun, even on the most ordinary of days.
I’m not saying we all dye our hair vivid colors, or, equally, that we forget our individuality shouldn’t come at the expense of other people–and coloring my hair was an admittedly louder fashion statement than I originally intended.
Yet dying my hair blue was a quiet way to remind my kids that they can do “crazy” things and I’ll always love them.
I might not want them to think they have to do obvious physical changes to be seen or heard by me, or by anyone, but I do want them to know their mother loves and celebrates the people who make up this family–that their dad and I honor and welcome diversity.
I hope one day when they’re 36 that they love and accept themselves exactly where they stand in that moment.
At the very least, I won’t blink if they come home with blue hair.
