It's Just (black) Hair, Right?

I am in a dilemma.  Not a serious one, but a big one.

I love the look of black hair. Blue-black, slick, shiny hair.  My natural hair color - at least for the first 27 years of my life - was black/brown.

I hated it.

Too straight and too dark.

I did all I could to change it. I began when I was 13 by boiling onion skins and trying to highlight it.  I then discovered Sun-In.  Yeah, that worked... a little.  I then took the (dumb) plunge; I tried combing straight peroxide onto it.  Yeah.  No.  Not enough.  Long story short, I ended up pouring not one, but two bottles of the stuff onto my hair. I did this at my cousin's house.  We were both really wanting to do something drastic. She didn't. But she did walk with me to the local 7-11 to buy peroxide.  She didn't try to talk me out of buying two bottles.  Perhaps she thought one was for her hair.  Nope.  Then, when I was done, she simply muttered; "Uh, Mary..."

Yep. Orange just like Greg's.

When I came home from their house, I quickly walked into my bedroom.  My mom came in and her smile faded.  No, she didn't cry.  She yelled.  I'll leave that to your imagination.

Now, I have always loved extreme hair stuff; colors, cuts.  I have always wanted a really short, almost shaved look.  I tried it one time and I guess the shape of my head just doesn't facilitate that type of cut.  So I gave up on the short stuff and went long.

Let's now fast-forward to the present.  Kind of.  In the not so distant past, I decided to go gray.  100% me.  No dye.  I liked it.  My kids loved it.  So did my husband.  So did strangers.  I still like it.  The only problem is that it's no longer grey/white.

Now, it's blue/black.

I had been playing with the idea of going black for a few months.  I have had a really bad year, physically and one day, when things were really bad and my emotions were at an all-time frenzied mess, I did it;  I dyed my hair black.  Blue black.

It was a big shock when I first saw it.  My husband hated it. Black is dark, isn' it? .  Yeah.  Very.  As the days went on, I grew to really like it, more and more.  It showed off my eyes, I thought.  In photos, I could really see my Mexican/Spanish side, now. I really liked that.

I began reading how to care for dyed black hair.  The more I read, the more discouraged and regretful I became.  I learned that dying your hair black is way more damaging than bleaching it.

It's true.

My hair feels like straw.  If I don't condition it for like 5 minutes after I shampoo it, I can't even brush it, let alone get a comb through it.  But that's not the worst part.  Now, my roots are coming in.  There is no way, as lovely at is it, that I will dye the roots black.  No freakin' way. So, what to do?  Let the gray grow back and keep cutting it?  I'm thinking yeah.  I hate to say this, but I simply cannot afford to get it done professionally right now.  I know, I sound cheap and tacky.  Whatever.  I keep hearing Dolly Parton as Truvy in Steel Magnolias saying, "I can spot a bottle-job from a mile away."  Yeah well. Whatever.  Medical crap has made me poor... okay not poor, but I certainly cannot afford to shell out $150 to repair what I did to it.  Yes, I know I ruined it.  I accept full responsibility.

I'm letting the black grow out.  It won't be quiet the ombre-look, but at least it will be free of chemicals.  I may go back to brown.  Maybe.  Some say I look much younger with brown... others say I look sexy with the silver.  It's all opinion.  Mine is the most important. So, the next time you see me, I will definitely have some silver streaks in with the black.

Oh, and I also want to apologize to my mom.  She too used to dye her white locks black.  I used to give her so much flack about it.  I'm sorry, Ma.

Until next time,

Peace