The moment is finally here. I pick up my flat, dull pink brush off the cluttered counter and take a deep breath. I glance up and know I cannot put it off another day.
I try to separate my hair in half, then I gently start brushing. The tug and pull are almost enough to just make me give up and say “I’ll brush it tomorrow.” But I don’t, I keep going.
I eventually just go at it with the band-aid mentality, the quicker I brush the sooner it will be over. After a solid 10 minutes, I have made a significant dent in the knots.
I step into the warm water of the shower and try to wash away the shame. The shame of knowing I haven’t brushed my hair in two weeks or washed it in at least three days. I try to make a mental note to text my hair stylist, to see when she can get me in. Maybe if I cut a few inches off I’ll feel better.
It’s one of those “why do I do this to myself” moments, the moments where I try to remember that I am not alone. I say a few things that I am thankful for — like my boyfriend, who loves me even when I don’t brush my hair. Like my mother, who celebrates my small victories like brushing my hair or cleaning my house. There is so much to be thankful for, the good outweighs the shame today.
Thinkstock image via Transfuchsian.