My mom hated me.

I was absolutely convinced. My older sister had long, dark brown, beautiful hair, and I did not. I was so jealous of her hair. Our bathroom drawer held leather hair wraps, like the ones the Native Americans in my small hometown wore. I loved those things! I loved the smell of the leather and the softness of the straps. I pretended my hair was long, long enough to braid and cover with those beloved hair wraps.

But it was not.

Our bathroom drawers also held all kinds of hair ornaments that just looked gorgeous in her hair, and stupid in mine. Her hair reached all the way down to her bottom, and it looked glorious to me. I was the ugly little sister.

At Christmas time, when we reenacted the nativity story, my sister was always picked to be Mary. ALWAYS. There were only two girls! Surely I would be the mother of Jesus at some point? No, actually. I got to be an angel, or a shepherd, or some random animal like a sheep—but I was never picked to be Mary.

Sigh.

My hair was always shorter, not a gorgeous dark brown, and I was getting perms. PERMS, people!

My signature look had become frizz, and it was frizz that my mom paid good money for! I would endure hours of wrapping perm rods all over my head, followed by the solution on top that stung my nostrils and made my burning eyes water. One time, the stylist forgot to wrap my hair the right way, and I left the salon with about an inch (or more!) of broken hair, right along the crown of my head. That growing out process was really fun—character building, even. As it grew out, my hair often took the shape of a mushroom. It wasn’t my best look, to be frank.

In fifth grade, my hair journey really took a turn. I embraced the fact that I looked so different than my sister with her phenomenal locks. I would go all in. I got bangs that extended back to the crown of my head in addition to the permed hair. Oh heavens. What was happening? In sixth grade, it was even worse. The tightness of the newly permed curls combined with the long mullet looked more appropriate for a high school softball coach than a 12 year old girl just trying to fit in.

At this point, I absolutely KNEW—my mom loved my sister, and hated me.

My hair proved it.

Or did it?

We all have the ability to think—and sometimes we think things that aren’t true. Unfortuntely, our thinking can get really warped, and you can find what you are determined to find. If you believe miracles happen, you will look for those miracles and find them. If you believe everyone hates you, you will be able to find proof that those warped thoughts are true. You can find all the evidence you need to validate your case.

Here are the actual facts:

My mom loves me. I never did get to play Mary—oh well. I loved those hair wraps, but I also loved shorter hair. I’ve always loved short hair, especially on me. I loved curls and was happy to get the perms I got. My mom let ME decide what to do with MY hair from an early age. I think I even chose the mullet MYSELF 😂 (whoops).

You don’t need to believe every thought that comes into your head. Some are not true and need to be questioned and examined. This takes practice, and is well worth the effort.

Get practicing.

P.S. I know you love me, Mom.❤️

Warped beliefs

Civility