I said earlier that I once embraced my grey hair. Unfortunately several years ago someone talked me into dying it. I did so a dark reddish purple and I now am forced to go through the ritual of maintaining it. I am 50.

I was really hurt and mortified. At my group I overheard two younger women laughing about 'older women who try to dress younger than their age and allow their roots to show'. I can only assume it was me they were laughing about. I was hurt, and humiliated when this happened a month ago and avoided attending since. I couldn't excuse myself any longer so yesterday - even though it had ony been two weeks since the last colouring - I waited unti the last moment to dye my hair. I was so anxious that a root might show and they would laugh about me again. I realized too near everything in my wardrobe is not the norm for a 50 year old (skinny jeans, flowing tops, and hippy stuff). I found myself looking for the most sutable thing I could find.

I am really kicking myself this morning. Why couldn't I walk in there with my head held high? Why did I have to allow myself to fight that battle? They won it.