Sunday, February 8, 2015

Becoming comfortable with being uncomfortable.

I have a problem (among the many...) and it's avoiding confrontation. Or any situation where there is the slightest bit of awkward or uncomfortableness. I've been known to close the door and hide in the other room when John is arguing on the phone with the cable company. I just can't take it. I also have a problem with speaking up and maybe this story falls under that category too, but for now I'm just going to stick with labeling it feeling generally "uncomfortable."

John was out of town last weekend so I decided to make a hair appointment to get some fresh highlights as a little treat to myself and honestly to give me something to do. So background story real quick. Last year I had my hair done four times, by four different stylists at four different salons.  So far I've had pretty good luck with just googling salons in the area, and making an appointment with whoever is free the day I want to get in.

So I did the same routine here. Found a nice looking salon online, called and made an appointment. True it was a very nice salon, but the girl who did my hair I noticed right away was very young. And she was blonde. Which I usually take as a good sign (because I'm blonde) but she had some bad roots. Which is not a good sign when you're a hair stylist, right? (Or should I shut my mouth because I just admitted I only had my hair done four times last year..)

She didn't ask many questions about what I wanted. And although I had a nice time talking with her, I was feeling a little nervous as she was going along because we never exactly went over the color I was looking for or any details. And she was moving along very fast...

You know that moment at the salon when they wheel you around in the chair for the big reveal, and you make a big show of letting them know that you like it? Or maybe that's just me...but then they show you the back really quick, ask if you have any questions and then send you on your way? Well, in that two seconds I always do think it looks pretty good, and I always try to make them feel good about it too. Like, I have to make sure they are happy too or something?  It's like opening gifts at Christmas. You have to give the big surprise face and the "THANK YOU SO MUCH" before you even have time to realize what it is you're looking at. (Again maybe that's just me. I don't know)

Once I left and was alone in the safety of my car, I pulled the mirror down to get a better look. And... eh not so good. I like a very ashy/on the whiter side blonde and this was heading more towards yellow. And not only that, it was also pretty spotty. I pulled my hair back in a fake pony tail and there was like some horizontal stripey thing going on. I was feeling a little disappointed. I mean this was not a cheap salon and I felt like I just seriously over paid to look like Eminem circa 2002. But I decided not to worry about it. I probably just needed to wash and style it myself and then I would see everything was fine.

You get the idea.

I washed it and then again, but I still couldn't shake off the feeling that it just didn't feel right. I yelled from the bathroom one night "JOHN, do you have anything to say about my hair?" He stared at me blank face like "....what..." But what I was really looking for was him to tell me that it looked bad so I would stop debating about going back. Because I knew deep down that I needed to fix it, and that would mean going back and facing them IN PERSON. And normally I would rather live with it, or go somewhere else to get it fixed, or even try to fix it myself before I did that.

But as I was driving a few days later, I kept glancing up at my reflection in the rearview mirror and the sunlight hitting it, and I just thought F it. I pulled over, called the salon and explained I didn't really like how my hair turned out. And apologized 500 times. And then over explained again why I didn't like it. And made sure to tell them that I liked talking to the girl.

SO, I went in the next morning, had it fixed and felt 1,000 times better afterwards. Was it awkward? Yes. Was it uncomfortable? A little. Did I feel like I was doing something horrible? Kind of. But it wasn't half as bad as I thought it would be. And I left feeling just super proud of myself for dealing with it.  Maybe next I'll work on the speaking up part...

x.

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