We, women . . . we cling to our bodies our sense of self wrapped up in them and warped to nothingness by the White men who use their minds to belittle and belie our truths at every corner — at every junction. How are we to live in a nation full of vultures?
How are we to cope?
A balking group of people has made it their life’s work to strip the woman of the one thing we had total control over — the body. And what next? What will they search and seize and lasso into their slimy possession that belongs to us?
We are yclept weaker or lesser yet they use laws to silence us — to push us into the closets of their making. Is it fear? Is it egotistical? Is it bullying? What can we say about the men who have no desire to protect us? What can we say about the women who support them?
Turn my body loose. You have no reign here — it is mine. I carry it, I nurture it — grow it into the massive mountain you wish you could climb. Tread lightly, though, I can shake it and rattle you at my will. I can crush you if ever I feel the need to.
Were these your reasons? Is this your why?
Could you no longer take the strength and representation within something built of atoms and flesh and blood that is not solely yours? It boggles my mind how senseless human beings have become but even more so, how drunk with power many men are.
If it were up to me, I’d rally the world around us to bury your tongues in the potholes meant for them and turn the sun’s rays up higher — burn, motherfucker, burn. We’d stand by, fan the flames, and call Lucifer to your collective side.
We’d let him have his way with you, just as you’ve had yours with us.
He calls her up, one more time for a memorable event Blessing her with extras like they do Jake cuz she’s got great rates Put the money where it hides tips her more than she desires
She doesn’t even count it anymore lets it pile up like before She’ll have enough for a new car new house . . . new life No more sticks No more stones and absolutely no more broken bones
He woos her with his lisp showers her with special gifts She pawns them at “The County Dime” They pay her for her time She leaves him empty-handed Ole boy is whipped and stranded She doesn’t even look back
Girl’s got moves to make hijacks his heart and that’s the breaks No one comes to his aid this is what happens when everything you want isn’t stamped “paid” He searches for an exit
None can be found None is at the ready She keeps things nice and steady Prepares herself for a new leaf changes colors . . . changes beliefs But still remains the same
It happened on Tuesday, June 15, 2021, around 5:45 pm. I texted my hairstylist to see what her next available date and time for a Saturday morning would be so that I could make an appointment. Her response to me was, “I’ve stopped doing Saturday appointments altogether.” I was walking my dog, Jernee when the response came through. Instantly, I stopped. I re-read the text.
Did I just read what I think I read?!
I did. I re-read it again and the response did not change. She was no longer taking Saturday appointments. This meant my routine of every three to four weeks of a wash, cut, and style would go right out the window. This also meant all the bonding, growing, intense conversations about faith, love, and gainful employment would crawl behind my routine out that same window. My other place of peace will possibly be no more.
The boulder had been drug out, rolled toward me, and it landed . . . hard.
After I gathered myself, I responded by informing her that her new schedule, unfortunately, doesn’t work with mine and I’d have to take a day off to come and get my hair done and at present, my next day off is Tuesday, August 03, 2021. I asked if I could go ahead and lock an appointment for that day since I felt as though many of her clients are having to move their schedules around and her weekdays will probably fill up sooner than later.
This meant my routine of every three to four weeks of a wash, cut, and style would go right out the window.
We agreed on that day — 12:30 pm. It is safe and secure in my digital calendar as an “event” I don’t want to miss.
I applaud my stylist for being able to make a decision to move away from doing something that essentially eats up her entire Saturday and having the courage to step forward in another direction. But without saying it, she has broken up with many of us and for those of us who will not be able to consistently keep up with her new schedule, this means I would have to find another hairstylist.
It means moving on.
My intention is to seek a recommendation from her to another hairstylist within the salon who can manage my hair. It’s unruly and thick and wavy and grows funny in the back and I have a blonde patch that she has trimmed so perfectly over the years that is now shading itself a dirty grey. All of this, I love, but who else will?
I trusted her with my hair. Who can I trust to do what she has had the full capability of doing for six years?
But without saying it, she has broken up with many of us and for those of us who will not be able to consistently keep up with her new schedule, this means I would have to find another hairstylist.
Finding a hairstylist who proves him or herself worthy of taking your time and money is a hard task. It can also be a stress-filled one and I want to avoid any new stress factors at this time or in the near future. A recommendation from my current stylist is what I feel deep down, will suit me best.
I feel like I’m being asked to sign divorce papers and I didn’t even agree to a divorce. It feels like another act of abandonment. It reminds me of the pain that comes with leaving bits of yourself with someone you have come to love, respect, and look forward to seeing but now . . . now you have to act as though none of that exists. You are beckoned to put on a happy face, suck it up, and allow these new changes to comfort you.
Eff these new changes.
This is what I want to say but the adult in me knows acting like a three-year-old will get me nowhere. I implore myself to make note of the positives:
1. I’ll get to meet new people.
2. I can work on enhancing my trust meter.
3. I could get new hairstyles.
4. I would still be able to see my old hairstylist and chitchat with her from time to time if I agree to stick with the current hair salon.
5. I can take back my Saturdays as my regular hair appointment days.
As I call these positives within earshot, I feel better. I am not a fan of change especially when my comfort level is secure and I feel safe in the bubble designed for me. The moment that bubble is deflated is the very moment I have trouble seeing what could be beneficial for me behind my cloudy vision. I have to be reminded of previous positive changes. I have to remember how much their influence and impact had on my life and how I have grown for making those changes.
You are beckoned to put on a happy face, suck it up, and allow these new changes to comfort you.
After six years, my stylist is breaking up with me. There will be no fanfare or party or gifts exchanged. I do not look forward to inquiring about a recommendation — it feels like stepping over a line — like perhaps, maybe I should not ask. But she is also the perfect person to ask since she works in the same building with the same women and men doing exactly what she does on a daily basis. Someone there should be open to taking on new clients and perhaps they will be interested in taking on me.
Cue a-ha, Take on Me (this is still one of my favorite videos, btw).
2021 has been full of surprises so far. I guess if there was any year to jump into a sea of changes, this one is the perfect one in which to do so. Good thing I usually don’t have much trouble swimming. Let’s hope I can stay afloat long enough with whoever will be my new hairstylist — let’s hope I won’t have to change again after landing the new one or in the near future.
The moment that bubble is deflated is the very moment I have trouble seeing what could be beneficial for me behind my cloudy vision.
Six long years have come and gone. More are ahead of me if I am lucky. Six years from now, maybe I’ll even have different hair or a different way of addressing what my hair needs and what I want for my hair. For right now, one step at a time.