It’s late at night, and I’m exhausted, but I’m scrolling through my Facebook news feed anyway. The day’s been mostly good, but long and loud, so in the quiet of a sleeping house, with all my tasks complete (enough), I let my mind linger over the senseless jabber that is Facebook.
And then I see “15 Ways You’ve Been Shampooing Your Hair Wrong.”
It’s what you’d expect, fifteen tips on healthier haircare. Nothing shocking, nothing inherently disheartening… except that, at the end of the day, why does it really matter how a woman shampoos her hair?
A friend and I have been talking about beauty lately, about how hard it is not to obsess over it, how hard it is be beautiful without succumbing to the vain desire to look beautiful, too.
Feeling a little out of sorts over this issue of shampoo, I close my laptop and begin a bedtime routine that includes kissing each of my four children on the forehead or cheek, sometimes the back of the head if a child’s face is burrowed into a heap of pillows. Beside my daughter is the notebook in which we’ve been writing nightly notes to one another. Tonight she loves me so, so, so, so, so, so much and she tells me I’m so beautiful.
So I’ll wash my hair however I see fit, and I’ll rest in the knowledge that I’m beautiful to the ones who matter most.