I miss my pink hair. I feel like a pussy for changing it.

I was raised with and by spectacular women. I’m lucky like that. I was taught to be honest and strong and full of spirit, and I learned exactly what those great big words meant to me by following the example of my loving mother, aunts, sisters, cousins, friends, etc. I am a result of an excellent environment.

So when my internship supervisor sat me down and told me I was dressed too casually for school, when she told me my hair and tattoos were ‘casual already’, I folded like a line worker in an origami factory. I changed my hair that very weekend, back to basic brown, although I kept a pink layer in the very back. I wasn’t told I HAD to change my hair, but I was hinted to the fact that my supervisor didn’t personally like it.

I feel awful for doing this. I can’t fix it now, you can’t dye pink over brown dye, and I loved, loved, LOVED my pink hair. I am a DAMN coward for giving in to what someone else thinks about my body, my style, my life. I can’t fix it, but I can take this feeling, this sinking, horrible feeling of failure and remorse, and put it away for next time.

Next time, I’ll have the ovaries to clean up my outfit, dress on fucking point, and wear that pink hair proudly. I owe that kind of courage to the ladies in my life, they earned it and they will cheer me on. I feel like an absolute failure, but in time, I can fix it.  I just have to wait until my hair is healed up to the point where I can go pink again. And when that time comes, no one will be able to tear it down.