The Flyaways I Never Thought I'd Celebrate

 I'm going to be a little vulnerable about something I've become surprisingly insecure about lately: my hair.

Back in January, we took a trip to Disney World. (Which we absolutely loved, by the way, and honestly deserves its own blog post.)

We splurged on PhotoPass because if I'm paying for professional photos in front of Cinderella Castle, I want to actually be in them. And if I'm going to be in them, naturally I wanted to look my best.

That started with my hair.

I'd noticed more gray hairs popping up than I cared to admit, so I decided to color it before our trip. The color looked great for the first few days. Then I washed it.

And suddenly my hair had transformed into a shade I can only describe as "brassy pumpkin."

It was orange. It was brown. It was somehow both at the same time. Most importantly, I hated it.

Now, a reasonable person might have called a professional.

I am apparently not that person.

Instead, I grabbed another box of dye and attempted to fix it myself. This meant I dyed my hair twice within five days, which, as it turns out, is not exactly a love letter to your hair follicles.

The color looked much better afterward.

My hair, however, seemed less enthusiastic.

Over the following weeks, I noticed more thinning around the front of my hairline. Between that and the postpartum hair loss that never fully grew back, I started to panic. Every shower felt like an investigation. Every hairbrush became evidence.

So I started that I'm now calling my Hair Regrowth Era.=

On weekends, I've been using caffeine and castor oil treatments. A couple of times a week I apply 5% minoxidil. Twice a month I wash with Nizoral shampoo containing ketoconazole. Every time I shampoo I use a scalp massager. Whether it's science, luck, wishful thinking, or a combination of all, I honestly can't say.

What I can say is that something is happening.

Lately, I've noticed tiny little hairs sticking straight up around my hairline.

Flyaways.

The very thing I spent most of my life trying to smooth down, tame, or hide.

And now?

I catch myself looking in the mirror and smiling when I see them.

They're not glamorous. They're not styled. They're definitely not helping me achieve sleek hair goals.

But they're proof that new growth is happening.

They're proof that sometimes progress doesn't look polished.

And maybe that's true for more than just hair.

Sometimes the little signs are worth celebrating, even when they look messy.

So here's to the flyaways. May they keep multiplying.