Yes, dear readers, you heard that right. After close to twenty years of coloring and styling my hair, my hairdresser made me cry.

I have sat in her chair countless times for many occasions; monthly cut and color, graduations, just-because-it’s-a-Friday blowouts. But never before has my hairdresser made me cry.

Truth be told, it was not her fault. I brought a bunch of baggage with me to the salon that day. I was sitting on a time bomb of emotions, pent up from a tough week, so when the moment hit me, the tears just flowed.

Confessions of a Closet Scissor Snipper

Our relationship started back when my hair was short. Ever since, I always look forward to a bit of pampering. This monthly ritual is my favorite. From the moment I arrive, there is no judgment but there is kindness, there is listening, and there is a good cut and color in the mix. I look forward to this quiet time so much that I book my follow-up appointment as I am leaving. I want to be on her docket. Every. Single. Month.

Confession: on occasion I have been known to trim my own bangs. Who hasn’t? Often they feel too long in between appointments. Typically, my stylist gives a light scolding because, of course, the bangs are uneven from my childish trim. But, for just that moment, I feel like a professional stylist myself as I mimic her movements by snipping away at my hair.

More confessions: and then there was the pandemic. Who could forget buying a six-month supply of color kits in several shades for the duration of lockdown? I could not leave it at that, however, and also bought some barbaric scissors to cut my boys’ hair. Well, I had so much fun thinning out their thick manes that I could not resist a go at my own. Unfortunately, the longer your hair the bigger the chunks that come off your scalp. I quickly threw those bad boys away, and my stylist gently forgave me for my Covid-induced faux pas.

However, I made an epic mistake a few days before my last appointment. I took scissors in my own inexperienced hand and snipped away. Yikes!

This last time was more UNforgiving because I was out of excuses. It happened on a Saturday night – after a few glasses of wine – when I was prepping for my nighttime routine. My hair was piled high on top of my head to wash my face when what to my wondering eyes should appear? A fist full of split ends sticking out in my sloppy pony tail. What if I can just…get rid of…those fly away strands…snip, snip snip.

The satisfaction was undeniable. The evidence was everywhere, but in my mind, the split end problem was resolved.

Until the day of my appointment.

Why My Hairdresser Made Me Cry

My mood was heavy upon my arrival, but after the wash and rinse, I was feeling more relaxed. A bit mellow even. I decided I would confess my indiscretion before my stylist started to cut my hair with her skilled and dexterous hands. Most likely, she would notice, so I will admit my sins like any good Catholic girl.

It must have been bad. Like really, really bad. She shook her head, exclaimed my name in mock disgust, and rolled her eyes. I was crushed. I had disappointed her.

So I cried.

My smart, savvy, wonderful stylist wasn’t mad at me for slicing and dicing my own hair (okay, maybe she was just a tiny bit annoyed). Her attempt of making light of the situation she now clearly had to fix unleashed a flow of anxious tears that had been brewing for days. Not her fault.

I wasn’t crying like a six-year-old who cut off her cowlick just to get rid of a wayward piece of hair (although this did in fact happen to a six-year-old I knew! Wink, wink). I was crying, silently, for a week gone bad.

We both immediately knew the tears were over more than snipped hair – or the loss of it. I was crying because we can only be brave for so long, and when we know we are in a safe environment, we can relax and let it flow. Part stylist, part therapist, this wonderful woman allowed me the comfort of coming undone in her chair. I am sure she has seen – and heard – it all before. She was kind and gentle when I needed it most.

Cleaning Up the Split Ends

Listen, I’m a writer, so naturally I am into metaphors and symbolism and incongruity. What was going on in this Main Line hair salon on this particular afternoon was all of that tied up in a bow, and then some. Perhaps trimming my own split ends was a cathartic metaphor for “unloading” the extra stuff I had been carrying around for days; now my load was lighter. Perhaps the Saturday night mini-trim in my home was symbolic of me taking charge of my life. Most certainly the tears shed were a long overdue cleansing, yet somehow incongruous because I was in my happy place.

All was forgiven and quickly made cheery and bright. And although my stylist and I have struggled with my cowlick for the almost twenty years of our relationship, I realize my monthly appointments are about more than just looking good and feeling good when I leave the salon. It’s about relationships we create along the way, how we bond and find comfort in unexpected places, how we connect as women, as moms, as friends.

So, if your hairdresser makes you cry, just know, she has created a safe space for you to unwind. The bonus? You will look – and feel – fabulous when you leave the salon.

Happy New Year, Fabulous!

It is easy to poke fun at ourselves because we are all human. Here is another article where Scout also finds the humor in being human: https://scribingwithscout.com/2023/02/02/how-to-fail-at-dry-january/