Birthday Blues

Yesterday was my husband's birthday. Not wanting to take him at his word that he didn't want to do anything special, I decided to put together a really special evening for him. 

And then I couldn't even get both candles to light. I spent the evening in tears. 

Let me fill in the middle of the story for you. I spent the whole day getting ready. I went all over town looking for the gift I had planned on giving him, but it was nowhere to be found. (Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating--I consider my two go-to stores "all over town".) I carefully studied the recipe for his favorite Egyptian dish and got all the ingredients--including a bag of wheat flour that really has no place in my gluten-free kitchen. For anyone who knows me, this is a huge sacrifice.  I got a balloon, I got out my blonde wig and planned nice, dressy outfits for myself and the kids, I got his favorite kind of cake...and these candles. 

I didn't time the cooking very well, failing to factor in the kids--pick ups taking longer than they should have, cries for attention, the whole bit. My attempt at Egyptian cooking was a colossal fail. I forgot which bag the cake was in and it smooshed to one side of the box. I didn't have time for any of us to get dressed up before he got home, I didn't have his Arabic music playing like I had planned, and I couldn't get both kids to make him a card. Besides that, I had a wicked headache and the kids were driving me absolutely crazy with their screaming. Happy screaming, but screaming nonetheless. 

And then one of the candles wouldn't light. 

And just like that, this selfless act of creating the perfect birthday where my husband would feel loved became all about me. 

Self-awareness can really be annoying sometimes. 

I am increasingly aware that, despite years of therapy for this issue, I still make everything about me. I still need affirmation like most people need water. I can only go three days without it. I know I set myself up to fail with this birthday dinner just so I could have a little "poor me, I tried so hard but nothing ever works for me" pity party and get loving attention and affirmation from my husband about everything that does work for me--or, more to the point, about me. I took on an incredibly difficult culinary challenge when I don't handle simple ones well; I actually thought my kids--my kids--could sit and make cards and dress themselves up; and I waited until the day of his birthday to shop for the gift. Somewhere deep, I think I knew I wouldn't pull it off. 

I'm pretty frustrated by the fact that I can't seem to accept who I am, inside or out. I see myself through the eyes of others, good or bad. And most of that is all in my head. 

Redefining my own beauty must involve setting realistic expectations for myself, even it means giving up all the attention I get when I fail. It must involve offering what I have, not what I wish I could have (like so-and-so does). It must involve looking at my mess of a meal and being proud to serve something that was prepared with so much love and such good intentions. 

The journey continues. 

Someone Else's Shoes

So, hopefully you've noticed that it's been awhile since my last post. Final exams and the grading that goes with it, holidays, school closures...writing hasn't exactly been a priority. Truthfully, I haven't known what to write about. How much can I really write about my life with alopecia and my journey toward a greater appreciation of my own unique beauty?

But, as happens every so often, I have entered a new phase of self-exploration. This new step was actually precipitated by the approach of another winter with bone-deep cold settling in to my body. More than anything, I truly dislike having a cold head and neck. Alopecia is a blessing in the summer, but a bane in the winter.

This year, I invested in some pashminas. Never heard of them? Apparently, they can be worn in twenty different ways:

I discovered that these thick, extra-long wraps keep my head warm, my neck covered...and people guessing about my background even more than usual!

Here is my new winter look:

I've gotten a few more "As-Salaam-Alaikum"s than usual. I feel like an intruder when I tell my greeters that I'm not Muslim. I have been questioning whether it's alright to wear the traditional garb of a culture and religion that I don't belong to. I don't mean to co-opt a symbol of the values of this culture, but it interesting what has happened since I started covering my head this way. First of all, I think this covered look is truly beautiful. There's something about a wrapping that signifies a special gift underneath that deserves to be hidden until it's intended recipient gets to discover it. Second, I feel that I might have a role to play in bridging a gap between my culture of origin and the culture I now look to be a part of. There is nothing to fear in the way people dress. As obvious as that sounds, I now know that the things which divide people are often simple ways of everyday living that look unfamiliar. I hope in this post to reflect my appreciation of a look that many people judge to be oppressive, or forced upon the women who wear it.

At any rate, this is my winter look this year, but when it warms up I will go back to baring my neck. Somehow I know I will feel much more exposed than I ever did before. Funny how stepping into someone else's shoes for a bit doesn't just change your opinion of them. It changes you, too.