The Battle of the Strands
I used to think gray hair was for grandmothers and old ladies. You know the ones—that “I’ve earned every strand” attitude.
Now I see it… in my bathroom mirror.
The gray hairs on my head have been multiplying for the past few years. And let me be clear: I’ll be 55 years old next month, and I still want to look good—I mean, really good—for as long as the Lord allows me to walk this earth. I want to hold on to my glow, my confidence, and my figure, too.
But there’s something about gray hair that feels like it announces to the world: She’s not the vibrant young woman she used to be.
But… is that true?
Or is it just my own hang-up about how I carry myself in this stage of life?
The Constant Fight with the Color Bottle
Let’s talk about the great cover-up. Coloring the gray is a valid solution. There’s no shame in it. Dyes, bleach, rinses—been there, done that, got the color-stained towels and bathroom counters to prove it.
Gray hair is just so disrespectful. I’ll color it, and just days later, those pesky roots peek out like, “Hey girl, miss me?” Like we’re friends or something. 😂 They show up like they run the place—and maybe they do.
But y’all, it’s a battle. And honestly, I’ve got enough battles in this season of my life. I don’t want my hair to be one of them.
This Ain’t Just About Beauty—It’s About Grief
I realize that embracing my gray hair isn’t just a beauty issue—it’s a grief issue. And like all grief, it’s layered.
I’m grieving the woman I used to see in the mirror. Not because she was flawless—but because she felt familiar. Comfortable. I knew how to show up in her skin.
Now, I’m learning how to feel beautiful in this skin, with this crown and these silver strands that keep popping up, trying to introduce themselves.
And with these extra pounds that won’t budge, no matter how many steps I walk, how much weight I lift, or how many carbs I cut. The way clothes fit differently. With skin that doesn’t bounce back like it used to, that tells the truth even when I wish it wouldn’t.
I’ll be honest—some days, that reality hits hard.
I catch my reflection and think, When did I start looking like this?
Confidence was never easy for me, even when I was younger. But back then, it was easier to fake. Now? It’s different. It’s layered. Aging shifts how the world sees you—and how you see yourself.
But here’s what I also know: this body has carried me through things my younger self wouldn’t have survived.It’s stronger in ways that matter more.
And even as I grieve what’s changed, I refuse to let that grief steal the gratitude.
Still Becoming
I haven’t read Becoming by my forever First Lady, Michelle Obama, but I believe in the message. As long as I’m alive—learning, growing, grieving, healing—I am still becoming. Becoming more of who I am. Becoming more grounded in the truth that beauty shifts, and that’s okay. Becoming the woman who can grieve her youth and still love the woman in the mirror.
As I reflect deeper on this journey, I recognize that my back-and-forth struggle with embracing my gray hair is also rooted in something I’ve battled most of my life: comparison and anxiety. Those patterns didn’t just show up now—they’ve been lurking in the background all along.
In this season of transition, I long to know the Lord Jesus in ways I never have before. I want Him to reveal Himself to me in ways that transform my life and renew my mind.
I’m learning to anchor myself in truth, like the one found in 1 Peter 3:4 (AMP):
My focus can not just be only outward—on how I look—but inward.
Please know I’m not pretending that the way I look as I get older won’t still vex me. It will. It does. But how I show up—the beauty of what’s inside—that’s what matters most to me now.
And this is yet another area where both things can be true.
Because of pride, I need to continually surrender how I see myself outwardly to God, especially if it takes my focus away from Him.
Let me tell you, I’m so grateful that I can bring all of this to God in prayer, and even more grateful that He is always faithful in forgiving me whenever I get it wrong.
I may not be the young woman I once was, but I’m not trying to be her anymore.
She did her job. She brought me here.
Becoming is messy, sacred, and worth showing up for.
Let’s Talk About the Grief No One Mentions
Are you quietly mourning the version of you with tighter skin, a smaller waist, and zero gray hair?
Or maybe you’ve always struggled with confidence, and aging just added more layers to the battle. Sis, you’re not alone.
As I’m writing this, my 92-year-old grandmother, who is currently in a nursing home, came to mind. I realize that she must have
grieved many versions of herself in her lifetime. When she went to live in the nursing home a few years ago, she grieved the version of herself that didn’t need full-time care. She’s grieved losing her independence. She’s still grieving the version of herself who could see before she lost her eyesight many years ago.
What I’m getting at is this: grief will come with every new stage of life.
But the key is acknowledging it and accepting the beauty of who you are right now, whenever ‘right now’ is.
I make it sound easy, but I know it’s not. Sometimes we’ll struggle. But it’s all a part of this not so little thing we all call life.
Both Things Can Be True
Here’s another layer of the dilemma: I love my gray hair and still struggle with it. I love the woman I’m becoming and still grieve the woman I used to be. I want to embrace the gray, and I also want to dye it blonde, red, or maybe even purple—just because I can.
Right now? I’m rocking the grays. And you know what? I do love the freedom of it. The ease. The boldness of saying, “This is me.”
But I don’t want coloring my hair to come from a place of fear—fear of getting older or being less attractive.
Two things can be true: I can rock my grays with pride and switch it up when I feel like it. I want to honor the whole experience—freedom, grief, joy, change—all of it!
💭 Are you struggling with your reflection lately? Is the face you see in the mirror triggering grief or insecurity? Let’s talk about it.
