White!

I was 23. It started small. A few strands on my right temple. Just a few gray hairs.

At first I had blonde highlights added to mask them.

Then more highlights.

Then roots plus highlights.

In the ultimate betrayal, the gray spread like a virus. Across the front and then down my part and then the majority of the top of my head.

I was diligent on my color appointments. There was no way that I was going to be so young and have gray hair. No. Way.

I often joked that not only did I have no idea what my actual hair color was, I couldn't remember what color it used to be.

When I was in my early 30's I read an article about going gray and when you should let nature take its course. The recommendation was to go gray at 40. 40. Clearly the woman who wrote it was insane. Insane.

Who in their right mind would go gray at 40?

My hair was becoming a constant battle. After a touch up, it only looked good for a couple weeks. Then I'd have grow out and had to start getting really creative with how my hair was parted. I couldn't pull it into a ponytail lest someone see how white it had become. Because now it wasn't gray, it was white. It was taunting me every morning.

And then... well, and then, I turned 40.

And I decided I just couldn't do it any more. I'm letting it happen. I'm going gray. Or white, rather. Because, it's WHITE.

I haven't had my hair colored in seven months. Oh, don't get me wrong, it's a bit weird. I miss the monthly appointments. Having grown up in a hair salon, I feel quite at home hanging out in one.

The hair and I have made peace.

And, I've never felt better.

White!