that people almost couldn’t tell wasn’t all mine. Even with the various looks I switched out throughout the years, I rarely, ventured beyond the comfort zone of 1B. That natural soft black was normal. It was safe.
Fast forward to 2018, two years after moving to New York City to pursue a masters degree at NYU when I felt anything but safe. Two years in, I was still having a difficult time adjusting to the fast pace of the city, to the perpetual presence of pigeons , to the frigid cold weather, to the distance from my family back home in Houston.and I wasn’t doing well in the city — even with weekly therapy sessions. I didn’t know what to do to lessen my anxiety, but I knew that I needed to do something.
I’d have to fight again just months later, when I graduated from my masters program and was once again facing another crisis. I couldn’t find a job despite my new accolades, and I was running out of time and money too quickly to be able to stay in the city any longer. The familiar desperation, this time heightened by the looming, crept on me quickly, sending me into a month-long state of deep sadness and fear.
, kindly listened to me explain through tears that my new hair was supposed to represent a brand new chapter in my life. The stakes were high, I hiccuped, and she knew exactly what I meant.me honey blonde. Knowing what I had to do, I left the barbershop with resolve and immediately strolled into my local Walgreens, heading straight for the
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