New 'Cut, New Start

Just got my haircut yesterday, and this time went all the way.  I cut the bang I had, mainly because I was done with having to deal with two different lengths and wanted to simplify things.  I went with faded side burns that taper to a point, hoping it would frame my face a little better.  When the barber was done, I took one look at myself and was filled with mixed emotions.  I finally had no more length on my head and my face was completely exposed.  The angles in my face were more prominent and the scars on my face were even more obvious than before.  My eyes looked smaller and my lips looked bigger.  I was naked and this is what everyone could see when they looked at me.  I could see all of me and there was no curtain of hair to hide it.

Yet, then I smiled.  This was me.  I had no more excuses to be less.  The veil had been drawn and I had the perfect canvas to start crafting the person that I saw in the mirror.  What I saw was someone regal and confident.  Beautiful.  Intelligent.  Classy.  Elegant.  Coquettish... Free.  I saw a person who was free to be what it was she wanted to be and had the strength to do it.

A lot of the guys in the shop said the cut looked beautiful on me, though I don't take compliments from a salesman seriously and the cut itself I found questionable.  I asked my mom what she thought, and she said she didn't know nothing about short hair on women.  I laughed and we went to the car, where I took another look at it in the car mirror.  I giggled as I noticed the natural waves  my curl pattern produced and the lone grey hair I had reduced to a stub.  Then, I grimaced a little.

"Ugh!  My skin!"

The drawn curtain revealed a very blatant imperfection I could not run away from, yet had to accept: the years of abuse I allowed my skin to endure.  And that's part of what this Natural venture was all about: self-acceptance.

Once I arrived home, I took pictures of my haircut (I'm always excited about getting a haircut, for some reason) and posted them to Facebook.  Of course, many people had their opinion of my hair, many of whom were used to seeing me with long hair.  Yet, I couldn't expect them to understand the liberating feeling of this major change.  Yes, my face looks different and they have they're own perceptions of what is visually appealing , but in the end, they're not the ones living in my body and maintaining my hair as well as my soul.

After Facebook, I hopped on Google for ways to lighten the scars on my face.  One may think this to be a little contradictory: How can you want to accept yourself yet want to change your imperfections?  Well, the way I see it, is that I can accept myself for who I am, yet the scars are not who I am.  They do not represent the me that I know when I look into the mirror.  They don't show me at my best, which is what I want to do.  The scars show what I've been through and have helped mold me, yes.  Yet, they do not show the me that I am now.  I don't want to see the past on my face, but the present and the future that has yet to be.   If it is within my ability to lighten those scars, then I welcome that.  Then if not, I will come to accept what it is. 

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.
-Reinhold Niebuhr

My Strength

Ever since deciding to join the Navy, I've had people put their two cents in on how it was going to be and how they felt I would fare.  I've had plenty of support, with a naysayer here or there.  I've heard horror stories and stories of potential gain through military employment.  I've heard a lot while trying to gain even more information.  I've heard of the good, the bad, and the ugly.  Yet, the most inspirational thing I've heard, was from my mother and it was the most unexpected phrase, too:

"You can't do it alone.  Not by yourself."

You maybe thinking, "What?  That sounds like some pretty heavy nay-saying to me!  And from your mother of all people?  Really?"  Now, before we start winding our necks and sucking our teeth, maybe I should get a little more of the story in.  You see, at the beginning of last week, I started a running regimen to try and build my endurance for running for PT and so I didn't have to get stuck keeping pace.  Yet, I don't what it was I did wrong when I started out; maybe I didn't stretch properly, maybe I didn't hydrate myself well, maybe running on the concrete was harder versus being on the treadmill, or something.  Yet, when I started, I just felt incredibly heavy and I couldn't go more than two minutes without having to wheeze to a stop.  Mind you, I had tried running before, but stopped for a while because my running shoes were falling apart, causing my knees to hurt.    Just the day previous I managed to go seven minutes on the treadmill with no problem.  So, you could imagine my discouragement at my regression.  I would run for two minutes, trying to go for three minutes, but failed miserably.  I did this for maybe 10 minutes before my calves got too tight to run and I had to limp back home.

Thoughts of self-doubt began to cloud my mind, thinking perhaps those who questioned my abilities were right.  Maybe I was biting off more than I could chew and there was no way I'd be able to meet all the physical qualifications by May (my weight had still been giving me trouble as well).

Frustrated and exhausted, I began to cry. I gasped and huffed and sniffled myself through the door and my mother, who was on the couch, asked me how my run went.  She could tell something was wrong when I wouldn't look as her.  With a smile that only a mother could smile, she pulled me beside her onto the couch and it was then I began bawling my woes to her.  I hiccuped and she listened.  I whined and she listened.  I cried and she listened.

And, still with that mothering smile of her's, my mom put my head on her shoulder and said, "It's good that you know your limitations and your weaknesses, because it's then that you realize you can't do it alone.  Not by yourself.  Not without of God."

It was then she spoke of rejoicing in the fact that you are weak because it presents the opportunity for the Lord to show himself to you and work through you.  In that, he can show you things you had taken for granted, things you need to improve on, and the motivation you need; all while simultaneously empowering you to do the things that need to be done.

While I listened to her, I realized the truth in her words.  I had already realized the importance of having her in my life.  I've also realized the importance of having a reliable support group who love me and do support me, because even when I don't believe I can do it, or I've become depressingly discourage, there's always someone around to remind me of how capable I really am.  Even in that instant, The Lord revealed so much to me to help me keep going.

After our chat, we prayed for strength and mom prescribed that I pray every time I went out for a run.  Which I've done and have made it to being able to run at least four minutes at a time.  The progress is very uplifting and I'm still aiming for those seven minutes.

Next mission: Weightloss!  Oh, boy...

PT: What am I Doing Here?!

Last Thursday I had mt first PT (Physical Training) meeting. Under normal circumstances, attending such meeting would be voluntary.  However, because my weight likes to play Indian rubber ball and bounce around like a tethered kid on a sugar high, PT is MANDATORY voluntary (meaning I can go if I want… to stay in the Navy).  Around time for menstruation, I seem to carry what feels to be a spare tire of water around my middle; this messing with my numbers significantly.  I’ve talking to them about it, yet the Navy doesn’t care about water weight (unless it’s on the ship, I guess), they just care about numbers.  As if trying to get my weight down just to get them to start processing me wasn’t enough…
Where was I?  Oh, right!  PT.  Going in that Thursday, I knew pretty much what to expect: the running, the curl-ups, and the push ups.  I had been doing all those things previously to try the lose the weight before, yet when we started running, it was then I realized I had been going about this PT thing all wrong!  Petty Officer McKinley had us warm up and mentioned a ten minute run.  I was like, “Sure, no sweat.  I run a little, walk a little.  No problem.”  That was then he tacked on the word “continuous”.  I never hated a word as much as I did that one at that particular moment and as the minutes wore on, that rage… turned into tears (Okay, so I didn’t actually cry, but I was sweating up something nasty).  I could hardly make it past the five minute mark without wanting to punch someone in the face, yet around the seventh minute, I settled with staggering to the starting point and stretch out my legs.
It was at that moment, as I drowned my thirst in the ice cold nectar of water, I asked myself, “What the hell am I doing here?  I knew this wasn’t gonna be a cake walk, but this is ridiculous!  There’s no way I can keep up with half the guys here!” (And the majority of them were guys.  Most of them strapping, football playing-types.  There were only six girls out of the 30 DEPpers that were there.)  Yet, in that same instance,  I straightened up.  Of course this wasn’t going to be easy, but that’s why I was here, right?  Imagine if I was going straight to boot camp with that kind of attitude?  I would hardly make it through the first week.
I barely finished up my run when we had to do curl-up and push up.  I won’t bore you with how poorly I did on those (17 and 8, respectively), yet it did make me realize that I had a long way to go and I had a LOT of homework to do.  It motivated my even more when he made us do another run, this time for five minutes, and made the whole group fall behind the slowest member in order to keep pace.  Guess who was the slowest recruit?  I’m glad they weren’t jerks about it, but it was humiliating enough.
By the next PT meeting, I’ve made it a goal for myself to run at least seven minutes consecutively, starting at five and increasing my time by a minute each time.  As for the curl ups, I plan to do five reps of ten, making it 50 altogether.  Push-ups all push back for now until I work on my two weakest areas.  I think this is something I can maintain.  I really don’t have a choice.  I don’t want to be the one to keep pace anymore!

The Big Chop: A Navy Initiation

So, after a long hard road of contemplation, soul searching, repairing, weight loss, and processing, I’ve finally done it: I’ve DEPped into the Navy (on October 31, 3012, to be exact).  I’d wanted to join the military since I graduated, but I was convinced otherwise, got my A.A., and went to University the hard way.  I hardly made it through my first semester, when I got sent packing to my mom’s house, with a failed report card in hand and student loans in tow.  I was at a really, really low point in my life and that’s when I decided it was time to make a really big change in my life.  I tossed off all excuses and went into the recruiter’s office.  Five months later, I am now a Future Sailor and I get giddy every time I say it.  Probably giddier than I really should be.
Along with joining the Navy, I’ve also done some life-changing cosmetic alterations to myself.  I went and got a Big Chop (or BC for short).  During the transition between University and home, I went into a really deep depression (not clinically diagnosed, though) and stress, along with me taking lousy care of myself, caused my hair to break greatly.  The hair in the back was thinned, my hair needed bad trimming, plus a perm… It was just a hot mess!  While thinking about going into the Navy, I had also considered getting it cut and asked around to what others would think if I had my hair short.  A lot of people cringed and shook their heads, fearing it would make my already square face look masculine.  Some said that I would get so upset if it all went away at one (something about women’s femininity being tied to the hair or something).  Others encouraged it.  A friend tried an express keratin treatment on it, seeing if it would hide the damage to my hair while I made up my mind.  It did a pretty good job of it.  Yet, I eventually had to wash it out, and I started hating my hair all over again.  Finally, I just got so fed up with it!  I just wanted it GONE!  So, another friend shelled out the money for me and, during her lunch break, we went to go get it buzzed.  With a few passes of the razor and a spin in the barber’s chair, it was done and I LOVED IT!  We left a little length on top (kind of like a Willow Smith sort of thing) to soften up my face, but just seeing the rest of it on the floor filled me with such relief.
I found out I wasn’t as attached to my hair as I thought I’d be and it was so liberating. I finally didn’t have to fall slave to the “creamy crack” and fight against my curls.  No longer did I have to sit under the dryer with rollers in my hair for four hours (yeah, my hair’s hella thick) while being scolded by a stylist to take better care of my hair.  No longer did I have to spend hours in front of a mirror with a flat iron in hand, trying to stretch a relaxer.  No!  I was free!  I was finally free and the breeze on my scalp proved it.
Both incidents happened rather symbiotically.  I don’t see myself having done one without the other.  I don’t think I would have gone through the BC if I wasn’t so determined to get into the Navy.  I don’t think I would’ve went into the Navy with my hair in such poor shape.  They both have had great impacts on my life.  I’ve liberated myself enough to fully dedicate to bettering my life.  I feel in doing both, I have ventured on an exciting and rocky road to spiritually, emotionally, and physically (as well as financially, ha!) bettering myself.
This is my journey.  This is my story…