Being Grey and Living With It

My hair started going grey when I was about forty. For awhile I pulled out the betraying strands, then I coloured it and then… I gave in to the inevitable. I guess. I just stopped bothering about it. This was easy enough for me. I only see myself the odd time, quick checks in the mirror to make sure nothing is too out of place.

However, it seems to be a bigger issue for my Mother and somewhat my family. They see me more often than I see myself. It’s been a challenge for them to see me with grey hair. Especially as it keeps evolving, taking over.

My grey hair is growing around my face. My Grandmother also had grey, mainly framing her face with the rest of it sticking to the original colour. Fading from the front to the back, with the back pretty untouched by any grey at all.

Don’t misunderstand. I’m not exactly liking it. But, I’m living with it. If I were blonde the grey would be less noticeable. I’m brunette so it has more contrast between the grey and brown. I’m living with it.

My family have taken longer to live with it. Interesting when it isn’t on their heads. But, I think it has to do with perception, and how they feel about themselves getting older along with me. I’m the oldest of four siblings. So, I get to be first down this road and they can’t do much but be next in line.