Having long hair has always been a style choice for me. After seventy-two years, it is still the most beautiful and significant part of me. But yesterday, my daughter-in-law Betty burst into the room and interrupted my peaceful time in front of the mirror, where I was delicately combing through the silvery strands. Her remarks were more savage than a pair of shears.
“Long hair at your age makes you appear so pitiful, Mom. CUT IT SHORT and quit being an embarrassment; you’re no longer a young woman.
I could feel the hurtful reverberation of her remark as her tone shifted from respectful to contemptuous. The ebb and flow of Betty’s emotions has always made her an interesting character. Suddenly, she’s putting me down and then she’s gushing over me with little comments. I was taken aback by her icy demeanor this time.
A Personal Battle
Even after Betty left the room, the pain and bewilderment caused by her harsh comments remained. As I stared at my own mirror, I wondered if maybe she was correct. At my age, wouldn’t my long hair make me look foolish? By deceiving whom, exactly? But suddenly, I felt a flash of rebellion. At 72 years old, who was she to tell me how I should dress? Even total strangers have told me how much my hubby loves my hair.
The struggle within continued. I almost caved and chopped off my hair to appease her criticisms. However, a more robust aspect of me was adamant about not letting her words control my decisions. The decision to resist Betty’s passive-aggressive tactics was made in that very moment. If she wanted to play a game of “hot and cold,” I would demonstrate my full intensity.
A Strategy Develops
An chance arose a few days down the road. Betty boasted about her young appearance and perfect skin because she had always been self-conscious about her features. I was well-versed in exploiting her vulnerability to impart wisdom to her.
As usual, Betty’s habit of leaving her pricey skincare supplies in my bathroom irritated me. To make her skin feel oily and uncomfortable, I delicately substituted her night cream with an innocuous-smelling ointment. She wouldn’t be hurt, but she would be startled. A mixture of shame and contentment washed over me as I replaced the container. Rather than seeking vengeance, my motivation was to assert myself and establish limits.
Later that night, Betty entered the kitchen with a look that betrayed both perplexion and annoyance. “Mom, have you ever felt my cream?” I can’t stand the way it makes my skin feel and smell.
Innocently, I gazed at her. “Oh, Betty, I knew you were a fan of that one. It’s said to be packed with nutrients. Perhaps some people simply will not enjoy it.
She furrowed her brow, remained silent, and huffed her way back to her room. Reestablishing some respect for myself was a minor victory. A change in our dynamic was signaled by this seemingly insignificant gesture.
Rediscovering My Strength
What came next was a new experience. Instead of being as abrupt as usual, Betty seemed to be more careful when she was near me. My guess is that she realized I wouldn’t be as easy to get after this.
My hair remained long, flowing down my back like a silver waterfall, and I kept it that way. It served as a constant reminder of my strength and my refusal to be defeated by anyone who dared to undermine me.
My spouse came to sit with me in the garden one afternoon. With a smile on his face, he ran his fingers through my hair. You are stunning, Roselyn. Remain unchanged forever.
He confirmed what I had long suspected, and his words brought comfort to my heart. None of other people’s opinions could determine my value. At any age, I should have been able to feel gorgeous and confident.
A Fresh Perspective
Betty and I changed the way we interacted after the cream incident, but we never brought it up again. Her demeanor remained icy at times, but she exhibited a newfound admiration. She clearly saw that I wasn’t the type to back down from a challenge.
As time passed, I proudly embraced my long hair. The judgments of others, particularly ones as ephemeral as Betty’s, should never control my self-perception, I concluded. Each silver hair, wrinkle, and line on my face was something I had worked for. Stories of perseverance and fortitude abound in them, attesting to a life well-lived.
Winning or losing was of no consequence in the end. The goal was to show Betty that respect is mutual and to reassert my authority. Despite her attempts to embarrass me, she served as a powerful reminder of my own resilience. I came to the realization that this was the most important lesson of all.
