little drops

If the wind
blows hard enough
long enough
will it find
a way to
pick me up
and cradle me
inside its
gusts?
Will it find
a way to
catch the cautions
I have thrown
to it and
deposit me
like debris
at the foot of
the bed
where you lie
sleeping?

-Tyler Knott Gregson-

Every day when I catch a glimpse of my hair in the mirror, my heart starts to sink. 

I’ve always had long, thick, gloriously unruly hair. Wavy and wild, I could never really make it do anything, but I was almost fonder of it for it’s spiritedness. Virtually always down unless it was tucked under a horseback riding helmet, it felt like an integral part of me: a physical representation of an aspect of my heart. 

I’ve had health struggles for awhile now, and they’ve taken a toll. My hair started thinning out at the start of college, but there was so much of it that only one my mom and one of my best friends who would braid my hair a lot noticed anything… but over the past year, I’ve lost about a foot of length off my hair. It’s probably less than 1/3 it’s original volume. It’s kind of ironic, because my labs and tests started coming back good a couple months ago, my body should be balancing, and I should be feeling and looking more vibrant than ever… 

But now my hair falls just below my shoulders; frizzy and limp, trying to curl, unsure of how to act without the rest of its own weight. My hair has stopped coming out in handfuls, which is GREAT. I’m very thankful for that… But as melodramatic as it sounds, I feel like I’m missing a part of myself. It’s a physical reminder of my lack of control, of the ways I tried to be healthier, of the mistakes I’ve made… I want to pull it back and turn away with a heavy heart. 

But am I going to let what I see in a mirror define me and the way I feel about my life? No. 

I learned to love myself and my body, to accept the fact that I might not ever look like the girls in magaiznes, but it doesn’t mean I’m not beautiful. Instead of letting my heart sink, I should celebrate: I’m alive, which is a small miracle in and of itself, and a  testament that God wants me here for a reason. The beauty in me is more than skin deep. I don’t need to compare my life and it’s challenges to anyone else’s: some may seem to have it easier in some ways, some may to have it harder, but I only have MY life to live and dwell and rejoice in. This can shape me into someone more beautiful in ways that genuinely matter. This is just a further reminder of where my true worth and identity lie, and an opportunity to witness growth and practice joy and gratitude. 

Life is precious, and I don’t want to let negative emotions steal any of mine. I’m alive, and it’s beautiful : )