She Resolved to Love Herself, Frizzy Hair and All. (What Happened Next Will Probably Not Astound You.)

There was something freeing about 2016. It was, after all, the year I began to (sort of) fully embrace fullness. 

It was the year I accepted my hair, realizing it will never be smooth or sleek or even curling-iron-curly. But will always be full bodied, always voluminous, often frizzy, never flat. I bought products to enhance those traits, all from the way too expensive but works better than anything else I've found Deva line, products touting Set it Free and Hair in Heaven!

It was the year I picked up the tweezers less and less, wishing I had never picked it up in the first place, to begin the regrowth process on brows that use to be vogue, waxed pencil thin, harsh, but are now so outdated they practically scream early 2000s. I bought products to remedy that too, filling in my misdeeds with ANASTASIA Brow Powder and pomade to give me the currently coveted Boy Brow. My dad would be horrified if I came around with a tattoo, but does microblading even count? I'm imagining if he knew some tattoos come in the form of really realistic looking eyebrows, he might even consider it for his ever so slowly but still surely receding hairline. We could get our first tattoos together... we never actually made it on a skydiving date before I got married and had kids. This suddenly seems like the safer, I'll be home in time to make dinner dear, sort of option.  (Moment of transparency: A few stray brows managed to find their way down to my chin. The tweezers hasn't completely retired.)

It was the year I accepted my legs will never be flamingo-long, but penguins, though one never gushes over their legs, are cute too.

This acceptance of things I can't or don't even need to change, may have been induced by the coming of age. Twenty-five has always been so much closer to thirty than twenty-four will ever be. 

And I'm married, only striving to impress one man now. He makes it easy, I know he preferences. I even listed a pair of comfortable Madewell pants in my Instagram shop, selling them even though I still liked them, simply because I knew he didn't. If that's not heartfelt love, tell me what is? I hope the lucky girl who got them has a husband who appreciates pajama style bottoms that are meant for dressier occasions.

2017, I thought to myself, is going to be the best year yet. It's going to be the year I start being me, and stop worrying so much about what doesn't matter... like smooth, silky hair, and perfect brows and clothes that flatter. 

Ironically, the very first day of 2017 landed, smack, on a Sunday.

I picked out my outfit: a black pencil skirt, oversized red sweater, black tights, and heeled leather booties. The whole look would be pulled together with the only glamorous thing I own, a sparkling statement necklace. 

It was 2017, I concluded. The year I won't spend every Sunday afternoon standing in front of the hanging mirror, putting together horrible outfit combinations that look fine to me any other day of the week. 

I glanced in the mirror, determined it would be a one shot, no more outfits needed, sort of night. 


The proportions were off, I looked like an old fashioned school teacher in those silly tights, and that pencil skirt certainly wasn't elongating penguin legs. Nothing was working.

My husband, the only man I'm striving to impress, gave me a few suggestions. But body-con dresses are never church worthy. Take me on a date, I cry, and then maybe I'll wear that silly thing. Whatever he likes about that dress I will never understand. 

I tried my only maxi skirt. It didn't work either. The last time I tried to wear it, I hung it back up, deciding it too would be listed on Instagram, but this time because I was the one not so fond of it. Back it went, to the sell-when-I-get-around-to-it stack.

Black jeans. That's my Sunday night uniform. Why didn't I think of those in the first place? I would have saved myself hassle. But yes, turns out those Madewell black jeans truly weren't made well. I discovered that on the eve of Christmas Eve, when sitting cross-legged on the living floor at my husband's Amish grandparent's place I glanced down. Skin was showing were skin, when wearing jeans, should never be showing. 

So there I am, still standing in my room, yanking things from the closet and throwing them on, only to throw them off again. 

Well, it looks better than your last outfit, he said, when I finally came out, ready or not, 'cause it's time to go. He dislikes maxi skirts and dresses even more than I do. 

I sort of impressed him, I guess, in my olive pants and white button up.

2017, we are only on day two of you, and already I've broken resolutions to be okay with myself. I'm going to go shopping for some nice church clothes, or, more than likely, just a pair of black jeans to get me through another year of Sunday nights. 

I'm not giving up, though. I've got my tweezers handy for those migrating brow hairs, but otherwise, I'm going to work on my fully embrace who I really am.


  1. Oh Sarah…:-) I've been trying to embrace who I really am for a longgg time. The problem is that who I really am is different every day..it's very confusing. ;-) One thing we both know for sure is who we are in Christ and that's the foundation we can thankfully always return to. Love this.

    1. I feel like it is one of those never ending struggles, which, now that I think about it, is probably a good thing. If we were the same people we were yesterday it would mean we are stagnate, not growing.
      So here is to knowing who we are in Christ, even as we struggle with embracing ourselves.

  2. Oh my! Penguin legs...yes, I hear you, and yes, we are cute :)

    1. I heard Michael Phelps actually can swim faster because of his long torso and short legs. I'm not much of a professional swimmer, so I don't know how my build will benefit me, but somehow that still gives me hope that it will. :)

  3. Love this post..I hear you about the outfit struggles and the body struggles...and the *ahem* chin tweezing. ;)

    1. We all deal with those struggles to one degree or another, I think. Though the chin hairs? I feel I'm cursed with that -- I've got a head full of thick hair, which typically translates into healthy thick hair everywhere. :(

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  5. BOY BROWS. I haven't even heard of these yet. 🙈 This post is genuinely refreshing. ❤