Processing

I went to the doctor today.  What started as an appointment to "just establish care"with a primary care physician ended with encouragement to go pamper myself, two referrals, and two prescriptions.

The physician I chose as my primary care doctor, is also one of the physicians I collaborate with.  In Mississippi, nurse practitioners are required by law to have a collaborating physician they can call if any questions arise, and to have monthly meetings with to do chart reviews and discuss anything.  So yeah, maybe a weird scenario to choose to see her, as my primary care physician given our work-life…but when in small town, MS, my options for healthcare is limited.  Really, though, I do adore her both as a physician, and as a woman…which is why I chose her, even with the weird factor.

Anyway, she said:

"you look sad, and worn.  But you have that hopeful kind of sad to your eyes.  The kind that takes time, faith, and encouragement. The kind of tired that only a mama of 4, could understand."  

What started as an appointment to discuss thyroid issues ended up being...a lot more.

So I left, with a pocketful of encouragement.  Then went to get my haircut instead of rushing straight home to get the girls.  An hour for just me, this NEVER happens.

I believe, in general, when a woman cuts her hair, she is ready to change her world.  I wasn't ready for big change, just subtle.  This haircut, after all, wasn't planned.  It was a spur of the moment, gifted haircut that went…awry.  And for the first time, in a while, I cried.  Like the ugly cry, that you just can't stop.  I've been attempting to grow out my hair, the past year after I chopped it in one of those "I'm needing a fresh change" moments about this time last year.  I've hated the short length on my thick/wavy hair since.  I told her to trim the dead ends and leave the length.  She said okay.  But then she got to talking, and…

"oh shit."

I look up.  She grabbed scissors instead of those thinning ones.  A huge chunk, in the front, gone.  No salvaging that.

She felt worse than I did.

She promised to fix it, she did.  She didn't charge me, but I still paid.

Then I cried in the car.

It's just hair.  It'll grow back.  But it was that one thing, that finally let my emotions free.  And for the first time, in a year, I felt like I could breath again.

I've had a rough last few...years, really.  If I'm being totally honest.  It has been easier to be quiet here, instead of typing out the feelings of truth.  We all like to paint a picture, make it beautiful and shiny, and avoid the struggles we hide.

Looking at the big picture of my life, it isn't this huge, grand, terrible story.  In fact, I have a good, good life.  I know this to be true.  But as the person living it, grand is how it seems and feels, sometime.  Most days, actually.  Grand and amazing.  Grand and overwhelming.  Sometimes the grandness of it all is just, a lot.  Too much.

Mid life crisis: maybe. 

Overly emotional: absolutely.

Without going into my huge life saga, I'll just say, this haircut was exactly what I needed.

I'm processing, and continuing to better myself.  To be better for them, for my Mr., for us.  This phase, I'll get over it. Eventually the regret, sorrow, resentment, fear, loss - it will pass.  I know this to be true, because I still have hope, love, promise, and determination….and those things outweigh all the negativity.  As is the way of life, this valley will eventually become a peak soon.

The hair.  It will improve too