I dyed my hair black the summer before I turned 17.
Permanently.
My hair has bore the color of the feelings within me that I didn’t express.
Red.
Blonde.
Pink.
Now my hair is black. Unchanging. Unwilling to be changed.
It almost feels like the bitterness that bloomed inside of me when I turned 16 seeped into my scalp and turned me all dark.
Now to change myself is purely an internal process, and there is no outward expression of the exciting newness and rebirth happening.
How do you allow the change in, to consume you, when your feet are cemented to the ground like angry, burning tar? It whispers in your ear:
”You’re slow. You’re too lazy to achieve it. You’ll never know yourself.”
The beautiful thing about hair is that it grows back, the false colors will fade.
It doesn’t define you, as much as it seems to.
ashlyn ear • Oct 15, 2025 at 5:26 pm
This is amazing, and so well written!!