Glow by Lady E

  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 depar...

  I used to choose things because they’re pretty or affordable, but I end up hurt.  Like two brands of slippers that shall not be named.  Now I choose things that are kind to my body. Soft, supportive, gentle.  Especially after my foot ached for better.  I think I’m learning to apply that standard to more things. Pretty is lovely. Fun is lovely. And I will probably always be drawn to something that sparkles. But I don’t think beauty should require me to tolerate discomfort just to keep it around. That applies to something as small as a pair of slippers. Or a hairbrush. This new brush is still glittery. Still pretty. Still something that makes me smile when I see it sitting with my things. But it also feels good. The bristles glide through my hair without scratching my scalp or catching strands between broken tips. It does what a hairbrush is supposed to do without asking me to endure something first. And maybe that’s one of the quieter forms of self-respect. Not...