Tag: love

It’s not just hair. We all know that now.

About a decade ago, I was working at a grocery store/Starbucks. We had a regular customer who came in almost daily, “so what are your plans AFTER this?”, He would ask to whichever barista was serving him. He was a doctor, an anesthesiologist I believe. I would bite my tongue at the implications that this COULDN’T be someone’s lifelong job choice. I chose to see it as a, “you’re all so young! What are your dreams?” type situation.

One day he asked me. “I’m in beauty school! I graduate this fall!”. I was excited that I had an answer. It’s funny isn’t it? How much of our worth we put in which career we take? Anyway, he responded, “and then what?” And I stopped. What does he mean? “Well, then I take the state boards, get my license, and hopefully get a job at a good salon”. Then he repeated. “And then what?” I asked him what he meant. He told me that it would be a good job to get through college, but what will my REAL job be someday?

To be honest, 26 year old Beth wasn’t ready for that shit. Now, 36 year old Beth would have had so many words, so many thoughts, and so many insults for this man. But young Beth? She pretended to need to do something and walked away.

Fast forward to 2020. Guys. People were losing their damn minds because they couldn’t get into the salon. I had clients (of like 8 years) go to another state out of desperation. There were literally protesters with signs. It was at the point, we were making home kits with waivers. It was insane. Our salon was trying to get ready to open, AND THERE WAS NOTHING. Freaking people bought that shit up. What do we do? How do we stay safe? Where are the effing masks and barbicide???

You don’t remember that. Because that’s not your livelihood. We remember. We listened every time the governor spoke, wondering if we were going to open. Wondering if we would have what we needed to be safe for our clients.

Thought I should add here (quick one paragraph segway, promise), I am from Michigan, and our Governor has done an amazing job of keeping us safe and flattening our curve. (Go big Gretch!) That being said, there was a point I was like, “so…like…your man have an affair with his stylist? Or what? What did we ever do to you??” But in reality, she kept us closed until the proper equipment and gear we needed to be safe was available. Again, go Gretch!

Back to my post. Your stylist. Your hairdresser. Your barber. That person that makes you feel like you. THEY MATTER.  It seems silly to say, but this last year has made it clear. We ARE important. I have been shamed, put down, dismissed, etc., Because of what I do. But you know what? I heard more about people getting into their stylist than any other damn thing. When we shut down again this fall, you know what DIDN’T shut down? Salons. Because people would have FLIPPED OUT.

You need us. And that’s not a bad thing. I take a lot of pride in making my clients feel like they can take on the world. Making people feel like the best version of themselves. Admit it. Appreciate it.

Do you know I made 75% of my normal income this year? Many reasons. High risk clients waiting it out. People that let their grey come in, and want to see how it goes. Eyelash clients that don’t feel confident in the close proximity. Many things. So, if you are reading this, you need to think about your stylist. What have they been through? What do they risk for YOU. What have they given up to keep being there for you? Show them love. Make sure you let them know you see their sacrifice and love for their trade. Our salon was able to stay open. But, so, so many had to close.  Did you know that? Do you care about what we’ve been through? You’re worried about your roots, we’re worried about paying our bills.

One last thing. Why the fuck aren’t stylist on the vaccine list? We literally touch people for a living. Droplets? Who cares about that shit when we are touching people and standing near them for 30min-2hours? Aerosol? Isn’t it supposed to be like 10-15min? GIVE US THE VACCINE.

Literally this blog was to make you realize you love your stylist, and that we’ve been forgotten (THERE WERE SIGNS AND ANGRY KAREN’S! HOW DID YOU FORGET ABOUT US), and we just want to be vaccinated and make our clients feel like the best versions of themselves.

Anyways. Someone who knows shit, get cosmetologists, barbers, massage therapists, and LITERALLY anyone who touches people, a way to get vaccinated. Please.

SEE US. WE MAKE YOU NOT LOOK LIKE SWAMP TROLLS.

Also, we just don’t want do die or to accidentally kill someone because we’re exposed. Give us a vaccine, tip us well, and appreciate the sacrifice we have made for you.

Also, don’t go to the salon if you have symptoms. We are literally at your mercy. Don’t ruin our lives by lying. We will accommodate a reschedule.

It matters to me. So I’m just going to say it.

When I was a kid, my mom had a friend with a daughter who was just awful. She was rude, bratty, mean, and selfish. We would often have playdates while our moms visited. It was always exciting and anxiety ridden. This little girl had EVERY toy. It was kid heaven. Unfortunately, her mom took a firm stand on the “I’m not going to force my kid to share if she doesn’t want to. Adults don’t have to share, so why do we make kids?” belief. (I would like to add that I do not make my children share things that are important or special to them. If that’s your favorite toy, offer them another one. Set your boundaries, but still be kind an inclusive.) So we would go to this kids house and she would not let us touch anything. Or she would give us crappy, broken toys.

She was also super nasty to my little sister. Try to scare her with things, make fun of her, give her things and take them away, etc. My sister would cry and she would straight up lie about what happened. I would watch this happen. Sometimes I would tell what really happened, but she usually had an excuse and then would act out on me. So I would just ignore it. I wasn’t looking to have that nastiness aimed at me. I seemed to have worked my way into the “I guess you can play with some stuff” arena. And I was going to keep that going. We would tell our mom in the car about how mean she was, and our mom would comfort us and tell us that she is glad we weren’t mean and selfish.

Then, one day, my little sister wasn’t playing with us. I don’t remember why. Sick? Sleeping? Gone? Whatever the reason, I was the “little one” then. I’m sure you can guess what that meant for me. She spent the visit terrorizing me. Not to the extent of my sister, since I was older, but enough to leave me in tears, wanting to go home.

There are a lot of times in life that we see injustice done and we continue to let it happen because it’s not directly affecting us. Racism. Classism. Sexism. Homophobia. Abuse. We know these things. We may even talk about them amongst ourselves in agreement that they’re wrong. But how often do we put ourselves out there when these things happen? If little kid Bethy had loudly took a stand against that bully, to my mom as it was happening, then maybe some change could have happened. Yes, being validated though conversation is a good thing. But it doesn’t solve the problem. There may be a day when that problem becomes your own. Will just you want someone to agree with you and carry on with life? Or will you want them to actively take a stand on your behalf?

While there are many examples of this in life, there is one that has been weighing on me. After talking to my husband about it, I decided that it’s something I should share publicly.

I am bisexual.

“You’re married to a man, so who cares?” I care. The bisexual community cares.

There are a few in my life know this. A lot that do not. Up until now, I didn’t think it was relevant to share. I always thought, “If I ever fall in love with a woman, then I will come out. What’s the point of causing issue if it’s not necessary?”

One of the most difficult things is trying to explain bisexuality to someone who thinks they know, and doesn’t care to learn.

When I was 15/16 I was working a Greek restaurant. There was this teenage girl that would come in on a regular basis. She was beautiful, funny, sweet, and every time I saw her I would get butterflies and my face would turn red. It was very confusing since I was raised very “Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve”. I had crushes on famous females growing up. Clarissa was SO PRETTY AND COOL AND FUNNY. But just thought it must be that I admired them. Wanted to be like them. I wasn’t attracted to my female friends, and I did like boys. So I am definitely straight. Right? That teenage girl flooded me with confusion. Am I GAY?

After almost 20 years, I now understand what is misunderstood by most. Bisexuality is not turning on or off gayness or straightness. It is it’s own thing. I am attracted to and have the capacity to love both male and females. I am not straight just because I am married to a man. And the woman I’ve romantically been with didn’t make me gay. I am consistantly attracted to both genders. Not constantly, like some believe. Consistantly. Being bisexual does not mean I am going to run off with a woman or that I want a polygamist relationship. If you can be a straight person who is married, and see an attractive person of the opposite sex without feeling the urge to run off, you should be able to comprehend that I can be attracted to woman but be married to man. It’s the same exact thing. Commitment is specific to the person, not their sexual orientation.

I feel like a coward. Because I’m married to a man, I have the option to never tell anyone. I can sit here living as a straight person and it wouldn’t affect me in the slightest. I can discuss inequality and the rights of the LGBT community, but I can do it from a safe place of observation. I don’t have make people uncomfortable. I can ignore when people make homophobic jokes because they are not aware they of that aspect of me. Cowardice.

As I watch the rights of the LGBT community being chipped away, I am faced with the reality of my complacency. I talked to my husband about it, “what if something happened to you? And years from now I met a woman and fell in love with her? How many other woman are out there just like me, who find a woman instead of a man and are terrified to be with them because of the direction our country is taking? I feel like I need to come out. It seems silly since you’re a man and I’m not dating anymore. But I feel like I’ve turned my back on the LGBT community. I feel like my ‘I’ll come out if I have to’ approach is the same as saying I don’t want to have to suffer unnecessarily at the hands of bullies, so I’m going to sell off a part of my self to keep things nice for ME. I feel selfish.”

Like being little kids playing with that bully. I didn’t want to rock the boat. I felt bad, and even spoke out about things. But I liked not being the target and it ate at me not doing the right thing.

This post feels very anticlimactic. Because there’s nothing life changing for me. I am still exactly who I am. Learning this about me won’t change my relationships with you unless you change it. Will I get backlash? Oh I’m pretty sure. My kids have shared some of the things they’ve heard adults say about the gay community. About them going to hell. About them being disgusting. About how people should have the right to discriminate against them. My kids have come to me upset that there are adults that say such awful hateful things, while I have raised them to understand that love is love. There are different kinds. And no one’s love looks the same. I have told them that if they or any of their friends ever came out, I would protect and defend them from anyone who said hateful things.

I am bisexual. It does not affect my life as my life is now. But denying or ignoring this aspect of my life supports those who are trying to associate homosexuality with shame. And I refuse to feel shame about this aspect of who I am.

Pain is the Price, and I Gladly Pay

My dad died a year ago today. Life did go on. I did learn to laugh and smile again. Bills were paid, work was done, and friendships were made. At the beginning, I couldn’t understand how we were going to be able to do it. My mind could not fathom how a pain so deep could ever ease. For almost 30 years, there was a person who loved and supported me, and he was gone. How do you live without someone you have no memory of being without? But here I am, surviving and living.

Today I was asked why I was still sad. Why I was still holding on to the grief. They said they have lost a lot of people in their life, and they don’t let it get them down. People die. We all do. They don’t understand the holding on thing.

My first thought was, are you fucking kidding me? I am allowed to be sad and miss my dad. Hands down, the least comforting text I could have received today. You don’t tell a pregnant woman to “get over it” in any circumstance. Doing it when she is missing her dad who died suddenly last year, is a new level of asshole I didn’t know existed. The tears of hurt and anger streamed down my face. How could anyone have such little compassion?

After my complete shock and hurt calmed, I felt pity. I felt sorry for this man. That he has no one in his life he could say losing would be devastating. That there is no one he loves so deeply, it would change who he was if they weren’t here. How lonely. What a sad life.

Loving is risky. Loving wholeheartedly, pretty much insures pain. We do all die. All of us. So why do we attach and love? What’s the point if we know that the deeper we care, the more horrid the pain? We love because the benefit is worth the pain of loss. We give a part of ourselves to people, they give a part of themselves to us. When we do this with the right people, we know that person makes us a better person, and hopefully we make them a better person.

Life is a miserable thing. There are things we enjoy to do, that will ease the pain of living, things we like and look forward to. But a hobby or a fun moment lacks the substance to keep us happy to be alive long term.

Knowing my dad, loving my dad, and losing my dad have all played a part of who I am. This is how I get through in this dark cruel world. Knowing that one person can make such a huge difference in my life. I am glad his death hit me so hard. I am glad that I have people in my life that I love so much that their death will change me. Because that means their life has changed me too.

So I will grieve today. I will think about my daddy. I will be sad. I will cry. I will also pick up my kids from school, do some laundry, make dinner, and go to the store. I will continue to live. Just like I have been doing for a year. But I will not apologize for acknowledging his death changed me. I will not pretend it is not still very painful. I will not feel like I need to explain myself. If you cannot comprehend this type of deep rooted pain, my heart breaks for you. This pain reminds me of how loved I was by him. This ache in my heart tells me it was real. These tears are a welcomed, they let me know I have a big heart that can love.

This One Time, I was Homeless. It was Great.

I was homeless for almost 2 months. Very recently actually. Like, up until a couple weeks ago. Let me clarify that I was NOT living on the streets as one might assume by the word “homeless”. I was living in the basement of dear friends of mine. Let me back up a bit. In March 2015, for reasons that I consider large enough to warrant a quick decision, I left my fiance. Said incident happened on a Friday, I was gone by Sunday, with kids in tow. And yes, I am purposely leaving out the juicy “why” of the sudden split, because frankly, it doesn’t matter. I’m not asking you to make a judgement call or weigh in on whether it was the right thing to do. If you know me, you know I always aim to make the best decisions for my children. Even if hard or heartbreaking.

My sister was going to be out of town for a week, and offered her place to stay. I shoved all of our clothes into trash bags and loaded up my car and headed to her place. I spent the next week in a mild haze. What was I going to do? Where was I going to go? How am I going to afford to live on my own? I cannot believe I have to start over AGAIN. There was no place to go. No houses to rent, and no way I could buy my own house. I was stuck. Then I got a text that changed everything. My friend Kris messaged me teasing, “David says he will barter a haircut for our “basement suite” for you guys.” Phew. I have the next week covered.

Well, one week turned into over 6 weeks. How many of you just cringed a bit? We know what they say about house guests right? If I heard that, I would assume someone was taking advantage of hospitality. I could not imagine how any family would willingly take in a single mother with three kids for THAT long. That sounds like a situation where a friendship ends and there is a lot of emotion and tension.

As the receiver of this hospitality, I worried that the stress and anxiety of being in someone else’s house was going to push me over the edge. We all clean better, act nicer, are more polite, organized, etc, when we’re guests. I know myself. This was going to stress me out to the max. I knew I would only be able to maintain the “guest Beth” persona for a week, two max. So panic set in about the urgency of finding a place before disorganized, emotional, spastic Beth would come out. I loved this family and REALLY didn’t want them to regret their decision to let us live here.

Hands down, the BEST homeless situation I could have possibly asked for. These last couple months have been so full of love, compassion, kindness, and contentment. No judgement, no guilt, no manipulation, no animosity, just peace. Moving into my own place, while exciting, brought a certain amount of sorrow with it. I didn’t want to leave this family. I saw my children thrive here. I hadn’t had an anxiety attack the entire time I lived here. I could just state my needs, or ask for what they needed and there was a completely open line of communication. I wasn’t made to feel bad if I needed to cry and vent. I was NEVER made to feel like a burden. I felt accepted and appreciated. Is this family perfect? Absolutely not, none of us are. But there is a self awareness they have, that freed me to just be my loud, flighty, imperfect, self right with them.

So what do I do with this experience? What have I learned from all this? First off, I’ve learned how important it is to be grateful for the sacrifice others give to you. Seems like a pretty obvious lesson. But I feel it needs to be stated. Gratitude is something we MUST hold on to. My existing doesn’t entitle me to anything except the space my physical body takes up. How many woman DON’T leave because they have no where to go? What would I have done if I didn’t have anyone to take me in?

I would say, the biggest lesson I have learned from all this is from the other side of the situation. How completely selfless of this family to take in my family, no questions asked. Would you do that? Think about it. How many excuses do we make because we wouldn’t want the inconvenience of someone else’s problems. I was desperate. I was HOMELESS, with three kids. Did I choose it? Yes, I chose to respond to a situation the only way I could. I have actually had people say, “You chose this. You’re going to have to figure it out.” (We’ve come so far haven’t we….I should probably just put up with it. I probably deserved whatever happened, right?….I asked for it.)

We HAVE to change this “not my problem” approach to life. And this, “You didn’t do it the way I would have, so you deserve to suffer.” Yes, these were MY problems. Whether due to the fact that life just took a shit on me, or I made bad choices, the reality was, I needed help. My kids needed a stable place. And I needed one person to have compassion and say, “I care about you. So this IS my problem too.” I needed someone to say, “We don’t want you or your children to suffer.” That’s what Dave and Kris did. They said, we love you, so if you’re hurting, we’re hurting. If you need, and we can provide, we will.  It brings me to tears to think about how rare this is to find people like this. They are a treasure. I am I different, better, person because of them. To watch them parent their children, and include mine like family, to not ONCE feel like I needed to make myself scarce or that I was somehow intruding in their personal life, they were inclusive and sincere.

Does this mean you need to take in any person wandering around looking for a place? No way. That would be unsafe. What I mean by all this is, if I’m ever in a position where someone is in need, and I can give them what they need (not what I THINK they need) I will to just do. Don’t ask how they got there. Don’t explain what they did wrong. Just simply, see the need, and lighten the burden. To just love and know I AM responsible for other people. We can’t help every person, every time. Sometimes, we have to say no. But if we can, then we need to.

Doug Stutz Wouldn’t Regret Stuff, So You Shouldn’t Either

Very unexpectedly, my step father passed on November 23. He was 55 years old, and had a day of Christmas decorating and grandchildren planned. He was at the store, had a heart attack, and was gone. Just like that. Ripped from our lives.

I was very close to him. I called him Dad, and I’ve been his baby girl since I can remember. We talked almost every day, and saw each other multiple times a week. These last 12 days have felt like the longest days of my life.

So, I’ve been wanting to write about him. Memories flooding my mind. Writing about him seems impossible. I can’t put him in words. When I try, I find myself frustrated with the lack of depth in my writing. My vocabulary feels so limited in describing him. So I end up with just the simplistic, “this fucking sucks” or “it’s not fair”. I cannot articulate him or my feelings in the fullest sense, so I just resort to the most basic. I am sad. I miss him. He was a great dad. So that’s all you guys get from me right now.

I decided instead of trying to come up with some thought provoking, emotionally touching, in depth post, I would instead focus on grief. Because, well, it is a very real thing for me right now.

Sitting on my bed, sobbing like a child, my fiancé, Ryan, held me and kissed my head. “It’s just not fair!” I managed to get out. “He would be so mad at himself right now.” Ryan’s response was a simple, “You’re right. It’s not fair. He is still needed. We all still need him. And we need to remember him, the good and the bad. Because that’s what makes him him. If we just remember the good, he is a myth of a man.”

So I focused on trying to remember some bad stuff. We, as humans, tend to forget the bad stuff when someone dies. And I wanted to remember my Daddy as he was exactly. I didn’t want to lose any part of him. Have you ever done this? Try to remember the bad stuff after someone dies? It is way harder than you think. Why? Because those quirks and irritations seem so insignificant after the person is gone.

My Dad was kind of a stubborn man. He was very punctual, my tardiness and flighty ways drove him nuts. He was also easily irritated by the chaos of all the small children. I can here him saying “Don’t forget the bag of your kids stuff!” And “When will you be here? I have things to do today.” He was a very patient man, but I have a unique talent of pushing even the most easy going person to their limit. So, I discounted these memories, since his “negatives” were actually provoked by some of my flaws.

The I remembered a time he got snappy with me, unprovoked. He was stressed about work, tired, and worried about bills. I asked him something, and he snapped and yelled at me. It actually made me cry, mostly out of shock and a little embarrassment. But, he did come to me later and give me a big hug and apologize. He told me he loved me and the girls, and told me he would always help and be there for me. So I don’t know if that would even count as a negative. Since he did talk to me about it. I mean we’re all human.

BAM. There it is. Remembering the bad, had actually opened me to noticing even more of the good. It allowed me to see him as human. One that had flaws, but loved above all. One that forgave my quirks and even just downright rudeness. He was someone I forgave without hesitation. We were able to be our human selves with each other. We didn’t have to act, or hold back. Good day, bad day, or just a boring day, we experienced life as it was in the moment.

After these thoughts, I realized I didn’t have regret. I kept wanting to grasp onto something I would have done differently. Something to say, do, or whatever. Why was I LOOKING for regret? Regret is an awful thing! Why? Because I am hurting so bad. To the core of myself. And I need something to blame. There was absolutely nothing I would have done differently. How many people can say that about someone? Yet, it doesn’t seem to ease the pain knowing that. It actually makes it even more painful, because I know how rare it is to find someone like this.

For all those who are grieving. Those of you out there feeling you could have done something differently, or told them something. I am here to tell you, you’re holding on to regret as a defense against the shitty reality that sometimes, life just sucks. We have very little control of so much that happens. So it’s ok to let go of the regrets (that we are seeking out and clinging to) and just be sad. Our anger doesn’t need to be directed at ourselves. This doesn’t help our grief. I can honestly say, for those who play the “if only I just…” game, nothing you could have said or done would change the way you feel now.

I told my dad I loved him and thanked him for his help with my kids the day before he passed. What if I would have yelled at him the last time I saw him instead? I would most likely cling to that and be mad at myself. In reality though, that should be a fine last conversation as well, because that’s what life is! Happiness, sadness, anger, all of it. He was someone I experienced all of this with, and knew at the end of the day, he loved his family, his Lord, his work, and his friends.

All that being said, I am sad. This isn’t fair. It sucks.