My Brush as My Daily Diagnostic Device

 

I don’t count the hairs that fall out of my head.

I have a much simpler system.

I look at my brush.

Most days, I brush my hair, pull out whatever has collected in the bristles and don’t think much about it.

But every now and then, there is noticeably more.

That’s when my hairbrush stops being a hairbrush and becomes a tiny daily report from my body:

Excuse me. We need to discuss some things.

For me, more hair than usual tends to coincide with periods when I haven’t been eating as well, particularly when I haven’t been getting enough protein, or when I’ve been under more stress than usual. Or I haven’t had enough sleep. 

So I pay attention.

Not obsessively. I’m not counting strands or turning my bathroom into a laboratory.

I simply take it as a cue to check in with myself.

Have I been eating properly?

Have I been getting enough protein?

Have I been pushing too hard?

Have I actually rested lately, or have I merely stopped moving while continuing to mentally run seventeen departments?

Usually, I already know the answer.

And that’s what I find useful about these little physical signals.

Sometimes my brain can argue that I’m fine.

My schedule can insist that everything is manageable.

My ambition can announce that we have plenty of fuel left.

Then my hairbrush files its report.

So I adjust.

I eat better. I make protein more deliberate. I rest. I try to reduce whatever stress I can instead of treating exhaustion as something to bulldoze through.

It isn’t a sophisticated wellness tracker.

It doesn’t sync to my phone.

It doesn’t produce graphs.

It just sits there, sparkly and pretty,  quietly reminding me to notice myself.

And sometimes that’s all the data I need.

—-

With elegance and quiet fire,

Lady E
Founder, Glow by Lady E
An editorial space for stories, art, and intentional living