Silver Tinsel in my Hair

Goddess Frump

I Have Silver Streaks in my Hair – Deal With It

We'll take a Festive break here to celebrate ourselves. Have fun with this article I penned about frumps.

54 Years ago I had no hair, no teeth, couldn’t speak and I cried a lot. People loved me. Today, I have hair, I can speak and I cry only a little. People still love me.

My hair has silver streaks in it – and those same people still love me. My teeth are crooked and tinged with a faint acknowledgement of a coffee addiction – still, people love me.

My point is, I am a frump and I freaking love being a frump. I will not try to be anything else and people will still love me – for me. For who I really am. For my wrinkles and the silver streaks in my hair. The only expectations I have are self-respect. So long as I maintain my own standards of integrity I am brazenly me. Goddess Frump. That is who I am.

It has taken me a long time to get there, 19 615 days give or take. I have spent approximately 28 245 600 minutes trying to be Goddess Replica. Why? Why, when I can be astronomically happy Goddess Frump? Why would I choose to be a bland copy of billions of Goddess Replica’s when I can stand out amongst the few Goddess Frump’s who really honour themselves?

I’ll tell you why. Goddess Replica needs to belong; to be accepted; to be acknowledged. So does Goddess Frump, but she belongs to herself; accepts herself; acknowledges herself. She does not need external gratification to validate her, in fact it’s the very last thing on Earth that she does want. Goddess Frump validates herself. With respect, with integrity and with adoration.

This is the body I was born with all those years ago. Sure, my skin cells, weight, teeth and shape might've updated themselves, but this is my body, mine to love and cherish and adore. It was given to me as a gift – for free! I do not want to alter it or squeeze it into someone else’s idea of what my gift should look like. It’s mine! Back off.

I did scare the daylights out of my boyfriend once, okay maybe more than once, but as he came in the front door to visit me on this memorable occasion, I greeted him with pitch black hair. He was agog. Speechless.

I laughed nervously, flicked my locks over my shoulder and asked, “Do you like it?”

My boyfriend was always BRUTALLY honest. I have grappled with this at times because I think he is intrinsically wired towards frank honesty. Perhaps it’s a good thing; I have learnt to deal with his honesty in a healthy constructive reframe.

His answer to my question? “You look like a witch.”

Do you see what I mean about brutal? Normally my hair is brown, so from his perspective, it was an adjustment to make without prior warning.

That event was a tiny turning point for me. It didn’t last long and I had to learn to value myself many times over, but in that instance, I realised that I didn’t need another persona. My persona was enough. I didn’t need to portray myself as something I was not. As I found, it can so easily be misconstrued.

In my younger years I was informed that I had a neck like a giraffe. It is very long so this acquaintance wasn’t far off with her observation. The thing is, I freaking love giraffe’s as much as I love my long neck. There is plenty of room to wrap a scarf around in freezing weather conditions; there is plenty of scope for dancing expression and there is plenty of scope for my gorgeous long locks to curl about my shoulders. I love my long neck, it gives me grace and poise I otherwise wouldn’t have with a shorter neck.

From my knock knees to my poky wing bones, there is so much I could dislike about my body, but I don’t. My knock knees give me a unique gait, my poky wing bones promise an evolutionary past or future of flying. Flying for goodness sake! Why would I begrudge my poky wing bones?

To love myself without vanity is to fully appreciate the value of myself. Not just my body but my beingness in this world. I am worthy of being here just because I am here. I have nothing to prove. I am simply who I am. I am me. No-one can take that away from me. But this is not a recounting of ‘woe is me’, no, it is the complete opposite of ‘yes, this is who I am.’ Deal with it. I’m not talking about letting myself go, I still have to manage my health, physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually.

I want to walk confidently on the beach in whichever swimwear I choose. I have no need to hide the fact that I am a 54 year old woman soldiering my way through insidious menopause. It’s a beautiful thing. There is no need to hide it. And yet so many do.

Why? Because nobody speaks about the onslaught of menopause.

 It was the scariest ride my body had ever taken me on. It was also the most exhilarating.

I became less fearful of doing the perceived wrong thing.

I became braver in speaking out.

I became bolder in displaying my validity.

Sure, it is inscripted within us to attract a partner for life but when you dress it up as showgirl attraction, you’re not attracting the right person for Goddess Frump beneath all the glitz and glamour. Now I’m not suggesting you go on your first date in your smelly slippers, or any other date in them, for that matter – remember to always maintain your self-respect – I’m merely suggesting you choose an outfit that depicts the essence of you. You will find your fit and you will be loved.

You are not invisible, you are invincible!

It doesn’t matter whether you’re wearing the latest fashion trend or the most outrageous hairdo nor whether you’re wearing elasticised comfy pants or unruly hair – you are still you. 

You are still invincible.