Six months into carrying my only child, my hips changed irreversibly. They shifted shape, widened, softened, then hardened again, but never went back to their previous svelte teenage width. They made space, made way, for the beautiful little boy with whom I share my life, my heart. But still, they changed.
Fine, that’s fine.
And my breasts and my belly and my hands have changed over time. The strength of my body has increased, the shape of my body has changed, the usage of my body has shifted. I love my body, my perfectly imperfect body. My soft and strong and beautiful and tattooed body.
Oh and my hair. My hair, my hair. It has been deliberately changed since I was young. Blonde and purple and brown and black and blonde again and again, but now that it is a natural color, it is my color… it is turning gray.
It is turning beautifully brown and long and gray.
It’s normal, it’s life, it’s character… but nonetheless, it is turning gray. Just parts of it, just bits of it, just a strip of it, but it’s all the same: my rogue strip of gray is there for the long haul.
And so we keep changing, relentlessly, without our control. Our bodies change one way or another, our experiences change, our lives change, our loves change, and … our hair changes.
Today I am grateful for change. Today I accept, acknowledge, and embrace change.