Control

Micro-bang mullet.

It’s just an idea anyway, right? An abstract concept we think of as concrete. We even think we have it a lot of the time. Control.

Then there are these times in life that remind us we don’t. And make us think we never did.

But the thing is, I did feel like I had it. Control. I felt like I had it. Before.

Before diagnosis. Before something new took control. Or at least took the wheel. 

Before, I woke up early 6 days a week to workout. I chose which workout program to focus on that week or that month. This routine, which felt like control, shaped my life. 

I then chose to work most days with my friends in special education at my son’s elementary school. I chose to pack a healthy snack and lunch on these days. Since it was my choice to be there, I chose to smile even when the work was hard. Because I could also choose not to be there. 

But now, I feel I’ve lost it. Choices. Routines. Certainly control.

I try to stay positive. I try not to feel as if all my choices have been stripped from me. I try to feel as if I have any control in this whirlwind. 

But some days I feel as if I’m barely hanging on. 

Grounded by my children and their activities. Grounded by too many doctor’s appointments. Grounded by the love from all of you that I know surrounds me and makes me want to do better. To be better.

In some ways I feel as if I need to completely relinquish control in order to maybe feel like I’ve regained it someday. 

Let go. Let the hair go. Let the anger of new side effects go. Let the frustration that my incisions are still stubborn to heal go. Because really letting go is a choice and in that choice is control.

It only takes one thing really to make you feel like you’ve regained it a little. One thing to make you think maybe someday I’ll feel I’m in control of more things.

So, last week I let go and took control of one thing. My daughter who’s twelve told me when I cut my hair, she wanted to do it. And she wanted to experiment with different styles. 

I could either watch my hair continue to thin and cry as each strand fell or I could laugh as my daughter snipped my hair into styles she found on Pinterest.

Cry or laugh? I had a choice. I took control and chose laughter.

Even though the hair loss was inevitable, it was a hard choice to make. But my daughter and I forever have a bonding moment to remember. A moment when we laughed over hairstyle #3, a.k.a. the micro-bang mullet.

My hair is gone, for now. My sense of control feels lacking, for now. Maybe it’s not real, and maybe we never really have it. But in recognizing, and maybe even celebrating the choices I make, including the choices to let go, I know one day I’ll wake up and feel I have regained (at least some) control.