A young lady posted a request in my neighbourhood’s Facebook community. She is studying hairdressing and needed someone with curly hair to sit for a blow-wave. I have never paid much attention to such requests, but this time was different. Not only because she needed someone with curly hair (which I have plenty of), but also because it didn’t involve a cut. There are limits to my daring side…
I volunteered.
My mother was a hairdresser all her working life. It’s through her relentless hard work that she helped pave the way for my siblings and me to study. I have a soft spot for those who choose the art of hairdressing as their calling. Add to that my purpose of helping people grow (and growing with them by default), and it should be clear how I ended up in that hairdressing chair in front of that hairdressing student.
It wasn’t a great experience.
The wash was rather iffy, and the slight undercut over my right ear threw her for a loop. Poor waif. She was in a frantic state. For a second there I was worried that I might not get that blow job. (<-- Long-standing bad joke in our family.)
For the next 45 minutes, the learner-hairdresser proceeded to blow dry and flat-iron my hair with visibly-shaking hands. She punctuated almost every movement with a “sorry”. She was petrified of burning me or hurting me in some other way. She was sorry about every tug, every pull, every movement. Every flyaway hair got its own apology. She was really, really excessively sorry.
My mother was a master at saying sorry, too. It was so sad for me that she felt the need for constant apology. She was an incredible woman who only positively contributed to the world – why apologise? She was kind to everyone – what was there to be sorry about?
The last time one of my closest friends saw my mom alive, they had a conversation about the fact that my mom couldn’t get up. Mom got angry with herself and said something to the effect of, “It’s my fault. I should do more physio exercises!” To which my very wise friend replied: “You have been through hell. Be kind to yourself.”
I wanted that young woman in the hairdressing class to give herself a break. I wanted her to learn how to be kind to herself – something I didn’t know how to do until I reached middle age. My mom only learnt about self-kindness mere weeks before she died. It is such a pity it took her so long, because it seems, from my experience, the level of kindness you show yourself directly affects how happy you are.
I hope everyone who reads this tries to be kinder. Go ahead and put that oxygen mask on your own face first; you’ll be amazed how much kindness you will generate for those who are in your orbit. We can change the world with kindness; we should learn to start with ourselves.
*From the movie Cinderella.