One afternoon, I cut off my hair. 

That is factually incorrect. What I did was pay a professional to cut off my hair. 

Despite how much my intrusive thoughts want me to chop away every time I realize I have both hair and a scissors in my possession at the same time, I don’t actually trust myself to not instantly regret it.

I do trust my hair girl. I’ve been going to the same person since the day I walked into a salon, lowkey terrified and freshly non-Mennonite. Six years and five hair colors later, I have never left her chair feeling like ‘this is not what I asked for’. That is a rare gift.

I rarely got her to cut off my hair though. Little trims, layers, shaping, but not dramatic shortening chops. 

Only once before, in fact: three years ago, the summer I was pregnant with my daughter. 

I rather regretted that. I felt like somehow I’d cut off some of my power. And I thought my 5-foot pregnant body looked very short and round indeed with short hair. 

So why, knowing that, would I voluntarily go and do it again?

“That’s a great question, I would love to tell you.” -Elyse Meyers.

Well, there were several reasons, actually.

1. If you ever ran miles in the Texas summer with masses of hair either piled on top of your sweating head or hugging your shoulders like a cozy cape, I don’t think you’re the person asking this question.
2. I’ve been letting my natural hair color grow out for the first time in five years, as a kind of hair reset, and I felt it would be more efficient to just cut off a big chunk of the part that would have to be cut off eventually anyway.
3. I wanted the mental reset. Last year was dark, especially the last half. This year has been so much better, but not by good luck. By intention. And work. I’m choosing to enter a new era this year. 

I might be halfway there – halfway to a stronger, braver, brighter version of me.

~

One night, I had a nightmare. 

My nightmares are always the same- different in the particulars, but there’s a general theme: some authority figure from my past is controlling my life with some illogical decision, and I have no voice. Either I literally can’t speak, or I can’t be heard no matter how much I speak. 

It’s fun. 

Actually, it’s a nightmare. As I said. 

But it’s happened so many times that at this point it’s a little like *pats subconscious on the head* “Yes dear, I know, your greatest fear is having no autonomy and no voice.”

I imagine this is a casual experience for you to read this, but for me writing it, it’s a fierce clenching in my chest and I’m questioning if I should even put it out on the interwebs. Now you know how to torture me. 

But fear, they say, derives its power from the dark. 

Fear, they say, should not be hidden – or hidden from. 

In the dream, the authority figure used to always be the same person – a former teacher. 

(I wonder if she has any idea that how I perceived her earned her a starring role in my nightmares for years. I wonder how she would feel about that. I wonder if anyone has nightmares about me.)

But then one night, I found my voice with her and she was silenced, and I don’t think I’ve dreamed about her since. That seems like progress.

I still have the dream though, every once in a while. Now the authority figure varies a lot; sometimes it’s even someone who actually treats me with respect in reality. So it’s more like something lurking in my subconscious, looking for something to latch onto. 

So possibly I’m about halfway there – halfway to believing I have a voice that someone will hear, even in my nightmares.

~

One morning, I ran a 5k. 

My first 5k. Apparently I’m the kind of person who goes and does two marathons before she does anything shorter. 

Not for healthy reasons. For all-or-nothing mentality reasons.

The 5k was harder than I wanted it to be. Harder than running 5 miles all by myself. All the people all around me messed with my focus and I struggled to get into the zone I like to be in when I’m running. 

But I hit my goal finish time (with some end-of-race sprinting and puking) and I came in first in my division, so it felt like a win. I don’t think I ever won a medal before. Certainly not for an athletic thing.

I’m still surprised. I married a runner, and therefore I have run off and on (mostly off) for the last 10 years, but I never liked it. 

I liked the idea of being someone who ran. 

Hated every second of running. 

But I’m growing as a person. 

This year, I started running again.

Nearly two years ago, I told you that my fitness is one area where I feel I’m not doing that great, but I wasn’t stressed about it. I believed the day would come when I would unlock that level of my character development. 

This summer, I’ve realized I feel like I have. 

Oh, I still have miles to go before I sleep – but that’s just life. 

“There’s levels to it, you and I know.” -Kendrick Lamar

I have actually made progress over the last 5 years in building healthier habits. A good chunk of that is thanks to 75hard. I definitely don’t live a 75hard life, but after completing the program twice, some things did stick. 

Some is better than nothing, even if it isn’t all. 

I said I’m growing as a person because last November, about halfway through the marathon, I realized how terribly bad I am at accepting discomfort – especially physical discomfort. I immediately want to fix whatever is causing it, which is sometimes a good response. 

When you’re running is not one of those times.

So running seemed like an excellent way to learn to be okay with pain. To be able to accept discomfort when it is part of the process. 

Just because it hurts doesn’t always mean you’re doing the wrong thing. 

I think holding onto this belief is one of the major reasons why I am actually enjoying running this summer in a way I never could before. Running still hurts, of course, and sometimes it’s still hard for me to remember that this pain doesn’t need to be immediately fixed, but I’ve made progress. 

Maybe I’m halfway there – halfway to being able to experience discomfort, listen to it, and let it be.

There are worse places than halfway to somewhere you want to be.