As I settled into the salon chair, my new hair stylist, Ava, casually asked, “How have you been?” After a soothing shampoo, I felt oddly vulnerable, but I tried to act unfazed. My goal was to minimize any awkwardness.
“I’m doing alright,” I replied. “I’ve started some new medication.” It’s never easy for me to navigate these social situations.
To her credit, Ava nodded as if discussing a routine topic. I wasn’t sure if this was typical hairdresser conversation, but I liked her. She matched my humor effortlessly, and she politely overlooked the fact that my hair was a mess and that I was sweating a bit from the blow dryer.
I lost my previous hair stylist in a way that reminded me of losing my mother. There was a unique bond that formed when someone takes care of your hair and that of your entire family. The loss of my hair stylist felt more profound initially, perhaps because I didn’t have to confront her sadness directly. As I stood in the funeral home, surrounded by countless people whose lives she’d touched, I pondered how one could feel so isolated amidst such overwhelming affection.
“How’s that working out for you?” Ava asked, pulling me back to the moment. I glanced at her bird-themed artwork and the neatly arranged dye tubes on the wall, desperately avoiding my reflection in the mirror, where my damp hair and slight neck roll awaited me.
“It’s going well. I’m doing okay,” I managed to say, catching a glimpse of my neck. “I’ve put on a few pounds, but I suppose that’s part of it.”
From what I understand, my doctor and sister—alongside the medical wisdom I glean from shows like Grey’s Anatomy—tell me that antidepressants can ease our obsession with staying thin. The idea that when we’re hungry, we simply eat, or when Netflix releases a new season, we choose comfort over punishment at the gym can be revolutionary.
“I think I’d prefer to be happy and a little larger than to be skinny and sad,” I blurted out. A moment of silence passed between us, and I braced myself for a retraction or a laugh, but instead, I realized I truly meant it.
Now, perhaps this is a no-brainer for most people. Maybe everyone else has the self-love to always choose happiness over societal pressures. But my experience tells me otherwise.
In my life, I have encountered plenty of women wrestling with self-worth, bombarded by glossy magazine covers and social media influencers promoting unrealistic standards. For every empowered woman loving her body, numerous others are selling shakes and diets, insisting on various ways to conform to an ideal that often feels unattainable.
I’ve spent years trapped in a cycle of negative self-talk, drowning in feelings of inadequacy that replay like an incessant drumbeat in my mind. I became comfortable in that space of despair, hesitant to step outside of it.
But lately, I’ve been experimenting with reframing my thoughts. It’s like trying on a new outfit, adjusting to a new normal. Whenever negativity creeps in—about my appearance, my choices, or my lifestyle—I consciously pause to breathe and rethink.
Instead of “I look terrible,” I tell myself, “I’m grateful for this body.” Instead of “I should exercise more,” I remind myself, “I run because I enjoy moving.” And this reframing extends beyond body image; it encompasses every aspect of life. “I should be home with my kids” can morph into “I’m thankful for this job that provides for my family.”
Could the simple act of altering our perspectives spark a revolution? I believe so. Every significant change begins somewhere, and choosing self-love is a powerful seed to plant.
Ava breaks the silence, acknowledging the weight of my revelation. I forced myself to look at my reflection, confronting the familiar insecurities bubbling up. But instead of succumbing, I saw the opportunity to transform those thoughts. I focused on the present moment—the joy of connection, of being pampered, and the comfort of being cared for.
On my drive home, I absentmindedly ran my fingers through my newly styled hair, recalling fond memories of my previous stylist. I remembered a late-night phone call after my mother passed away, sharing laughter and fears until I’d worn myself out. Reflecting on that conversation, I used to feel regret, but now I reframed it as, “I’m so grateful for that time we shared.”
I know I have more lessons to learn, but I’m at the beginning of a long healing process. I’m starting with small steps, like accepting my body as it is and working my way toward forgiveness and self-acceptance. I live a life filled with love, even if I sometimes fail to see it because I’ve buried myself in those dark corners of my mind.
Let’s be clear: my life is not extraordinary because I am special. It’s filled with love despite my flaws, just like my old stylist’s life was, and my mother’s before her. We all have the potential for extraordinary love; it’s just a matter of opening ourselves to it, one reframed thought at a time.
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In summary, learning to reframe my thoughts is a journey of healing that has transformed my perspective on happiness and self-acceptance. It’s about cultivating a mindset that prioritizes joy over societal standards and embracing self-love.