Grays
I got my hair done recently.
I go every four weeks to get my grays covered because they are
OUT
OF
CONTROL.
Every time I get my hair done, someone asks to see a picture of what I changed.
But I always leave the salon looking basically like I did before.
Just… fewer grays.
No big reveal.
No dramatic before-and-after.
Just maintenance.
Similarly, every morning when I wake up and start getting ready for the day, I am mostly trying to look like I did the day before.
Sometimes I’m trying to look like I did years ago, but generally it’s less dramatic than that.
Mostly, I’m just hoping to resemble yesterday’s version of myself.
Trying not to look like I aged overnight.
Every day.
For the rest of time.
And honestly? I’ll probably succeed.
Day to day, I look pretty much the same.
But over time, of course, I won’t.
I’ll age.
My weight will fluctuate.
I’ll shrink a little.
My hair will thin.
I’ll tan and then pale again.
Makeup trends will change.
Eyebrows will betray me.
Fashion will cycle back around and pretend it’s new.
Little shifts stack quietly on top of each other until one day an old photo surprises me.
Still — each morning — I look mostly like yesterday.
Which is funny, because I don’t believe people stay the same.
I’ve never bought into the idea that people don’t change.
I know I’ve changed.
Whether by choice or heartbreak or plain old time passing, I am not the person I was a year ago.
Definitely not the person I was ten years ago.
And high school me?
Bless her.
But absolutely not.
The things I thought mattered.
The way I talked about people.
The way I talked about myself.
I’ve changed.
So I know others can too.
But change doesn’t look like becoming a different person overnight.
Even if you decide today:
Give up the bad habit.
Be kinder.
Be more patient.
Start school.
Quit the job.
Have the baby.
Tell the truth.
Save the money.
Tomorrow you will probably look exactly the same.
People won’t notice right away.
They may never notice directly.
Because the people who see you every day rarely notice you aging or shrinking or softening. Thank God.
But they’ll notice something else.
If you’re changing for the better, the way people move around you will shift.
And that’s how you’ll know.
Almost a year removed from being brokenhearted, I still see so much work left to do.
We are always our own worst critics, aren’t we?
I see the flaws first.
The habits I’m still unlearning.
The places I still flinch.
The ways I want to be softer. Braver. Steadier.
From the inside, it doesn’t feel dramatic.
It feels slow.
Ordinary.
Like covering grays.
But something shifted that I didn’t expect.
I started noticing it not in the mirror — but in other people.
Friends lingering longer.
More invitations.
Texts that said, “Come sit with me,” or “I just wanted to be around you today.”
Chairs scooting closer.
Conversations stretching out.
Not because they needed something from me.
Not because I was fixing anything.
Just… because.
Like we both left feeling a little fuller than when we arrived.
It took me a while to understand what was happening.
When I was hurting, I was smaller.
Quieter.
Guarded.
Carrying something heavy everywhere I went.
Even when I thought I was hiding it well.
Healing didn’t make me shinier or louder or more impressive.
It just made me open again.
Lighter.
Like I had finally set something down.
And it turns out people are drawn to light the same way plants are.
Not because the light is trying to be special —
But because that’s just what light does.
It shines.
And others naturally gather.
So now I look different
without really looking different.
And I will look different many more times in this life — in ways both better and worse.
I might gain muscle while my wrinkles deepen.
Feel stronger while getting older.
Softer while becoming sturdier.
Because two things can be true at once.
It won’t happen overnight.
But it will happen.
It is happening.
All the time.
Quietly.
Like covering grays.
Keep Reading
If this resonated, you might also like:
🤍 The Real Cost of Avoiding Pain — on what it takes to stop numbing, sit in the ache, and let healing actually begin
🤍 The Courage of Finishing Last — choosing slow, steady growth over flashy transformation and trusting the quiet work happening underneath
