Satan Done Gone and Attacked Mah Herr

or "You Look Better with a Ponytail"

“CHOPPPPP” was the sound I heard and felt as the scissors cut much higher than anticipated. It was a thick, brutal sound and feeling that had never been associated with having my hair cut. I was used to gentle “snips” by my friend, Cassandra, who loved my hair as much as I did.

I could trust Cassandra and have for as long as I can remember. She was the last person to cut my hair when I went back home to visit Colorado in September 2022 and, after 9 months, it was now apparent that I needed a trim.

Earlier that day, Facebook reminded me it had been a year since Gonzo’s surgery to remove the tumor that would ultimately take his life. I hadn’t realized it had been a year until I saw the pictures of my sweet boy post- surgery.

Suddenly, the tears gushed uncontrollably as I sat at the local coffee shop in a small town in Tennessee. Oh, how I miss that dog!

The year of cancer fighting had worn me down and taken its toll physically, emotionally, mentally, and financially. My hair had suffered, too. “Maybe a trim would make me feel a little better and take my mind off the loss of Gonzo.” I thought. I always felt happier and prettier after a nice haircut.

I was fortunate to find a salon nearby that had availability and, when I showed up for my appointment, I had to apologize for still being a bit weepy. My new hairdresser commiserated letting me know she had just put her dog down that morning and understood how difficult that loss is.

We shared a comforting hug and I did not even consider that maybe, this wasn’t the day for her to cut my hair…that she might be way too distracted.

Tired of the blunt shape my uncommonly thick hair had grown into over the past 9 months, I asked for something more tapered and to get rid of the dry ends. Ava (name changed) held about three inches of my hair up to display how much she would cut and I agreed that was perfect.

Ava placed the cape around me and, before I knew it, the CHOP happened. “That feels like a lot more than three inches…and why is she cutting it dry?” I thought, but assumed/hoped she was keeping to our agreed amount.

I tried to continue with the story I was telling but felt like my mind had shut down. All I could think was, “What is happening? Is this really happening?” I tried not to let my concern show, but as Ava moved from behind me and began to cut hair in the front where I could see, I realized my fear was real.

My waist length hair was now shoulder length.

(my pre-cut hair)

This was not the way to get through grieving Gonzo…this was adding a new thing to grieve…I had just lost my hair and what felt like my identity.

Who was I now? Who was this person looking at me in the mirror, I questioned, shocked as Ava continued to chop.

Stumbling clumsily through a story I tried to continue to awkwardly tell while I watched my identity be stripped from me, I finally had to stop and and say, “That is a lot more than I expected to be cut.”

Ava: “Well, all the dry ends are gone now.”

“Along with quite a bit of my self-esteem.” I thought, but kept to myself.

I tried to smile and stay composed as I internally burst into tears. I felt like I was in shock. Had I done something to make her mad at me? It sure did look like it.

Ava did nothing to try to shape the new look she had imposed on me. My assumption is she just stopped trying as soon as I voiced my displeasure.

She began blow drying hair that had never gotten wet in the first place. I asked if she wouldn’t mind washing it, and was hoping maybe she would realize it needed to at least be shaped before we were done with creating this new identity to which I would need to adjust.

After the wash, we returned to the chair.

Ava: “Do you want it curly?’

Me: “Sure.”

Ava began styling this new look with a curling iron and seemed to hit random strands, leaving me with a very confused looking mop of straight and curled tresses on my head.

Ava: “How’s that?”

Me: “Ummm, not what I expected, but looks great.” I said, trying to spare her feelings as much as possible while poorly attempting to hide mine.

I paid and even tipped and then walked out the door…crying immediately.

I called my best friend as I was walking down the sidewalk and away from the scene of the crime.

*bawling* “Can I cry about something stupid?”

Heidi: “Of course.”

I began blubbering about the assault my hair had just suffered and sent her pictures of the proof.

True friends do not sugar coat things and Heidi was quick to agree that it was really bad, commiserating that “a woman’s hair is her crowning glory” and I had just been stripped of mine.

I cried and cried and I hate to say that I think I cried more on the day I lost my hair than on the day Gonzo died… One loss was expected; the other wasn’t.

My brain shut down. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t function. I felt like I understood Samson’s loss, but it had affected my mind and not my muscles.

The only thing I knew to do that MIGHT help was to jump on my bike. Biking and Jesus can fix anything together. .

As I rode down the Natchez Trace Parkway, I was reminded of a song Heidi had sent me saying she thought of me when she heard it.

It was a beautiful compliment and, as I was crying out to God and thanking Him for this new loss, the chorus of this song permeated my brain.

That was all I could hear or think, so I began singing it. First softly whimpering it out through the tears, but as my strength and resolve grew I began loudly proclaiming it…All. The. Way.

“If You choose to give or You choose to take, I will still choose praise.”

Over and over again, I announced this throughout the ride.

I realized Satan had done gone and attacked mah herr and I would attack back through praise. (If I’m in the South, I might as well talk like it.)

The ride and the praise did their jobs and I felt much better. I did not feel pretty, but I felt better.

I have learned to thank God for everything that I think is bad, because He promises to work it all for good. Praise opens the door for that and also is quite the battlecry against any attack Satan might use to come against you. It is powerful!

For the rest of the night, I thanked God and praised Him for this new attack. Admittedly, it was mostly praise through tears.

The next day at the latest coffee shop visit, I could not stop staring at the barista’s beautifully, precise haircut. I was caught ogling and felt the need to explain why it seemed I was lusting after her coif.

I confessed feeling a bit jealous of the beautiful, bob she had and jealous that she seemed to have someone who knows how to cut hair.

The girl talk ensued and Tami gave me the name and number of her stylist. I pulled my hair out of the ponytail to exhibit the hair horror show I was trying to camouflage.

A pretty, long-haired customer (also looking for a safe stylist) had joined the conversation and both women agreed in sweet, Southern vernacular, “Oh, she did you dirty!”

Yes, she did me dirty!

“Was she mad at you?” The pretty, long-haired girl asked.

The honesty in these comments was refreshing and I quickly bonded with these two sweet women. The pretty, long-haired girl made it a point to tell me over and over that I was still pretty. I certainly did not feel that way and am so grateful for her words.

Tami and I spent the day chatting between work and writing and I got to hear more stories of strength, endurance, faith, and overcoming. None of which would have happened without, what I am now calling, “The Sexiest Hair Chop Ever!”

Over the past 3 years, like many people, almost everything has been stripped away from me; my business; my home; my friends; my finances; my dog; but at least my hair made me feel pretty. That has now been allowed to be stripped away, too. (I guess it’s time to work more on my personality.)

As for all the attacks, I will take it as a compliment that Satan considers me a threat and wants to tear me down any way he can. In everything I lose, I will still chose praise. In everything I gain, I will still chose praise.

Good will come out of all of it and as I sit here writing, a sweet little 10 year old girl informed me, “I like you better with a ponytail.” after seeing my new do. I needed the laugh she provided!

Tami’s stylist gets to see what she can do with this on Tuesday. We’ll see what new look God has in store for me, then…