Three Hours, Some Popcorn Chicken, and a Guilty Conscience

I just spent three hours getting my hair done for the first time in a year, and apparently, I need to turn myself in to the authorities.

An hour driving to the salon, an hour in the chair, and another hour driving home. Three hours out of my Friday dedicated to something I haven't done in an entire year.

And now I'm driving home, eating Casey's popcorn chicken dipped in garlic parmesan sauce, feeling guilty as hell.

Over a haircut.

For crying out loud.

I've got laundry that needs done, horses to tend to, kids to take care of, a house that could use some attention, and a running list of responsibilities that seems to reproduce faster than rabbits in the springtime. I could've spent those three hours doing any number of things that would've made my weekend easier, but instead, I decided to go get my hair done.

And the ridiculous part is that I KNOW I shouldn't feel guilty about it.

I haven't had my hair cut in a YEAR. It's not like I'm disappearing to a luxury resort every other weekend to be pampered while somebody feeds me grapes and fans me with a palm leaf.

I got my hair washed, cut, dried, and curled.

That's it. And it was absolutely wonderful.

I went to see Rylee Richardson (soon to be Gerdes) at Salon 105 in Mahomet, Illinois, and let me tell you, that girl did an AMAZING job. I absolutely love my hair!

Rylee also happens to be the future sister-in-law of one of my rodeo girls, Ella, so this wasn't just some random appointment. I genuinely adore Rylee, and getting to spend an hour catching up with her was just as enjoyable as getting my hair done.

We talked about life, caught up on things, and had a genuine conversation that didn't involve somebody asking me where their shoes were, whether I'd fed something, or what we were having for supper.

For a little while, I got to sit in a chair and enjoy somebody else's company without having to be responsible for anything.

Well, almost.

Because even while I was enjoying myself, that little voice in the back of my head kept reminding me of everything I should have been doing instead.

And I wonder how many women do this exact same thing.

We'll spend three hours running kids to practices, grocery shopping, helping somebody with a project, or rearranging our entire day to accommodate somebody else's schedule without thinking twice about it.

But spend three hours doing something for ourselves?

Now we need to justify it.

I know women who get their hair done every six or eight weeks, and I absolutely applaud them. Honestly, I envy them a little. They've figured out how to make that appointment a regular part of their lives, while I'm over here waiting an entire year and then acting like I've abandoned my family to pursue a career in recreational hairstyling.

What in the actual hell?

I think somewhere along the way, a lot of us started measuring the value of our time by how useful we were to everybody else. If we're working, cleaning, cooking, raising kids, or checking things off a list, we're doing what we're supposed to be doing.

But when we're sitting still, enjoying ourselves, or doing something that benefits nobody but us, it feels like we're wasting time.

And that's a pretty miserable way to look at life.

There will ALWAYS be something that needs done. The laundry isn't going anywhere, the dishes will somehow multiply overnight, and the horses will continue finding creative and financially devastating ways to keep me occupied.

That's life. And I love my life, even when it's chaotic and exhausting.

But I also wonder when I decided that being a good mother, a hardworking woman, and a responsible adult meant putting myself at the bottom of every single list.

Nobody told me I couldn't get my hair done today. Nobody called me selfish for making the appointment.

I created that guilt entirely on my own.

Which is impressive, considering I already have enough things to worry about without inventing new ones.

And what bothers me most is that I would NEVER want my daughters to feel this way.

I want those girls to grow up hardworking, capable, and willing to get their hands dirty when something needs done. But I also want them to enjoy their lives without feeling like they have to earn every little bit of happiness.

I don't want them apologizing for taking an afternoon off, spending time with someone they love, or doing something nice for themselves.

Yet here I am, sitting with my fresh haircut and gas station chicken, feeling guilty about doing exactly what I'd encourage them to do.

That's a little humbling.

I don't have some grand solution. I'm not suddenly going to start scheduling monthly massages and spending my weekends lounging around in a bathrobe. Good Lord, I can barely sit through an entire movie without thinking about something I need to get done.

But I do think we need to quit treating our own time like it's somehow less valuable than everybody else's.

Today, I spent three hours getting my hair done. I got to visit with someone I adore, left with a haircut I absolutely love, and enjoyed an afternoon that didn't revolve around anybody else's needs.

And somehow, I still managed to feel guilty about it.

Maybe next time I'll remember that the world survived without me for three hours and the laundry was perfectly capable of waiting.

Maybe I'll even make another appointment before an entire year goes by.

And if you're one of those women who regularly takes time for yourself without feeling the need to apologize for it, please share your secrets. Some of us are apparently still working through the emotional consequences of getting our split ends trimmed.

In the meantime, I'm going to finish my popcorn chicken and head home to whatever circus is waiting for me.

At least my hair looks fantastic.

And Rylee, if you're reading this, thank you. You did an incredible job, and I loved getting to spend time with you.

Now, if somebody could just teach me how to enjoy a haircut without feeling like I owe the universe three hours of community service, that would be fantastic.