Baby’s First Gray

It’s really more of a reddish blonde gray.

Today I hit two milestones: I reached 55K words for my work in progress (Any Other Love), and I yanked out my first gray hair.

I’m not proud to admit that I cried. My thick, very dark, 3B curls are my favorite feature. My hair has been relatively unscathed by my UCTD (aside from some thinning along my temples); with Plaquenil, it’s grown back in just as thick as it used to be. So yeah, I’m a little vain about my hair.

I did some whining and pouting, endured some of Mike’s jokes, then went to do the dishes.

“Hey,” he called. “Do you have any ink?”

“Fuck off!”

“I’m serious. I need to print a label.”

I’m going gray, but life goes on.

In an ironic twist, I was just talking about gray hairs last weekend with my Nana. She was saying how hers grow in a reddish blonde gray and we got to talking about dye. I said I’ve always planned on dying my hair a fun color when it goes gray, because for the first time in my life I won’t have to bleach it to death to get it to take the color.

Sigh.

I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t immediately start researching what happens when curly hair goes gray. Sometimes its curl type changes, but it almost always gets more coarse. So I’ll really have to baby it and moisturize it.

I may be going gray, but at least I wrote 5,000 words today.

Quoted on TODAY Show and Washington Post

via Unsplash

Sometimes something happens and you can feel that it’s A Big Deal—a milestone. Last night I found out through a couple people on Twitter that I’d been quoted in the media.

It’s super important to me that people with chronic illnesses have our voices heard, that we aren’t erased or romanticized. Seeing my words in the media—having my voice heard on this level—is surreal in a way that I can’t even explain. It’s also made me stop and think about a couple things.

I never knew I’d be an activist. Sure, I’ve always been passionate. (Just ask my parents and partner.) I’ve also long been shy and, for quite a while, lost my voice. It wasn’t until more recently that I’ve begun speaking out. I want awareness for people with chronic illnesses. I want able-bodied people to treat us better, to stop judging us by how we look or don’t look. I want better accessibility. (Yesterday I went to a restaurant and their ladies’ restroom barely fit me, never mind a wheelchair.) I want so very many things… and so I think I have to sit down and come up with some goals, focus my efforts a bit more than just sharing my story and speaking out when I come across something wrong. I want to do more.

It’s also made me stop and think about how much my words matter. As a writer, I think I’m maybe a bit more aware of the weight of my words. Seeing them in the media puts it into a whole different perspective, though. I’ve always strived to be myself on social media; I’m going to swear and share cat pics, but I’m also not going to join the mob with pitchforks when there’s a tweetstorm. I want to be professional but firm, serious but kind.

It’s truly surreal to see your words out in the wild, to know that they were on how many thousands of TV screens in an instant. My life hasn’t changed—I didn’t get an influx of followers or anything like that—but in 140 characters, I helped people see how that Cosmopolitan article was focusing on the wrong inspirational story. I’ve been part of the conversation for years, but I feel like this week, I was truly heard—along with so many others in the community.

Hey, I wonder if maybe now Washington Post will accept my article about opioids being a lifesaver for people with chronic pain. 😉