Why I hate thongs, postpartum reflections and hair goals

‘The Bronzette’ by artist Alice Des @alicedes_illustration

I’m sitting by my kitchen sink while a purple hair mask sinks into the brassy strands of my highlighted hair. My ends have been quite dry and I’m overdue for a trim, but my desire to grow it out is preventing me from doing so. I lost so much hair after both of my pregnancies, but a SHIT TON of it after having my daughter. I had bald spots right above my temples, and clumps of it came out of my scalp every time I took a shower. A year later, the front bits have finally grown out but not long enough to tuck comfortably behind my ears as of yet.

When I take the moment to notice how long my postpartum hairs are growing, I’m reminded of how much time has passed between having Stella (my daughter), and the present moment in front of me. ‘The days are long, but the years are short’, I remember being told this by older parents at our church when I was first pregnant with our son. I couldn’t fully wrap my head around this until years later, which indeed feels like they flew by in the blink of an eye. At the same time, I can bring myself back to many a memory of sleepless day after several sleepless nights, my body aching, baby crying, hips swaying and feeling absolutely isolated and completely depleted. I was so happy to be with this tiny little bebe, but so inextricably sad at the same time. I would count the hours until my husband turned his key in the door so I could have a break. Some days, that break was used to have a hot shower and other days, that break was used to release the tears that had been welling up inside of me all day long. I can still see Corain asking me (yet again) what was the matter, and I just didn’t have an answer for him. I would be so overcome. Not being able to provide that clarity felt like yet another task assigned to me.

Looking back now, I should have gotten help. I should have talked to someone or reached back out to my midwives or something! I felt like a bother. Like this was just what was necessary. Other people have it harder, and this will pass. I blasted Robyn and shamelessly danced in the living room with Hudson. I tried to meditate. I forced myself outside and took long walks - just the two of us. This helped but also allowed me more time to be in my head. My mother would make me feel worse by projecting resentment for her own experiences onto me under the guise of advice. She didn’t have much help, so why should I expect it? (which is quite funny since she actually did end up having a lot of family help later on, but anyway) She had this hard or that hard, so I should be grateful. Any of my own desires or aspirations are now moot since I decided to bring a child into the world. “You must SACRIFICE. You are less important now”. She didn't get to do anything else substantial with her life, so I shouldn’t expect to either. I should be happy with what I have, and don’t ask for more.

I know that probably reads super harsh, but it’s a reality that I had to take a deep personal dive into when I became a mother myself and make peace with. We are different people. Living different lives. Her experience won’t be mine. Once I was able to separate her projections from my reality, and not allow them to affect me in a negative way, it was liberating. Fast forward to my postpartum experience with my daughter, and I took what I had learned (or not learned) from the first time. I started talking with a therapist who specialized in perinatal and post-partum depression. It was a difficult and painful pregnancy. I carried an incredible amount of anxiety after suffering a miscarriage months before and I was physically and emotionally drained by the time I went into labour. Talking helped - a lot. Applying many of the breathing practices I used during labour was also helpful for anxiety. This exercise is one I still use almost daily. A few months in, I started learning more about mindfulness and the source of intrusive thoughts. This book by Jon Kabat-Zinn was helpful, and there’s a free pdf version of it available online here. I told my friends how I was feeling. I didn’t fake it. I took time for me. By the 7-9 month mark, I was starting to feel a bit more like myself again but didn’t apply any additional pressure.

And now we’re here. And you’re here. Thank you. We keep moving, we keep going, we keep changing. Speaking of change, let’s get back to talking about hair and thongs now.

I’ve dabbled in almost every hair shade there is, apart from colours such as pink, blue, green etc. Long, mid, bob, bangs, pixie. Natural auburn, redhead red, dark brown, bronde and back to blonde. I really like changing it up, but I am back in my blonde era at the moment. I love having the depth of warm brown tones with highlighted blonde hair a la Carrie Bradshaw season 4, however, I am just in love with the idea of reaching my own version of Adele’s hair during this 73 Questions with Vogue interview. The length and the blonde here are *PERFECTION* to me, making me gaga. I’m manifesting it, so I just need to be patient and consistent, especially with my scalp as I have had a chronically dry one for years now. My girlfriend, Stephany (who has an amazing YouTube channel, I highly recommend), tried using rosemary water to treat her seborrheic dermatitis and swears by it. Apparently, it can also help with hair growth as well.

Last week, in a hurried state I forgot to put on full-bum underwear underneath this short-sleeved bodysuit I was wearing with a fabulous pinstripe pant that I snagged during Zara’s last sale. This bodysuit, along with most bodysuits was a THONG bodysuit. I despise thongs. I don’t care, I don’t get it, they are uncomfortable, they bother me. I have no shame in stating that I had and still have the remnants of hemorrhoids from giving birth to two BIG-HEADED children vaginally. Having a firm piece of fabric back and UP there between my cheeks, rubbing up and down and pulling up into my soul every time I sit and stand is absolutely ridiculous. I was bothered for the entire day, and I would sooner go commando or just wear the damn cheeky undies before stressing about a panty line that I would CHOOSE A THONG.

These and these are totally more my jam

Whew, it felt good to put that out there, but wow this is kind of getting a little long here, huh? Well, I’m gonna go ahead and let you go. I’m sure you have things to do. Are you team thong or team coverage? Let me know in the comments below :)

xo.