This is so lovely. Hair cuts didn't used to mean much to me—I rarely treated myself to a salon experience. Then I found myself preparing for chemo. My stylist treated me with such care and love when I came in a couple weeks before treatment started. His dad was going through treatment for cancer and we talked and he massaged my scalp and tended to me. And then, after treatment, when my hair was fragile after scalp cooling, he was the person who celebrated with me and cheered over new growth. He's tended to my emotional cancer wounds as much, or more, than any doctor. Hurray for the all the people who prepare soft spaces for us.
This brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for sharing something so personal here.
The way you describe him massaging your scalp before treatment, then celebrating new growth after, that feels holy in the most human sense. I am so glad you were tended to like that. Hurray, truly, for the ones who prepare soft spaces when everything feels hard.
This is such a beautiful sentiment. In the minutes before reading it I actually found a piece of my hair that my kids had saved right before I started chemo! I let them each cut some off the night before I shaved my head. Feels so serendipitous that this comment was here literally 60 seconds after I came across this relic from two years ago. I also had an amazing experience at my hairdresser when this happened - pixie cut for free before my husband shaved my head and then wig styling for free. Amazing who shows up for us when we need them. Thank you for sharing this beautiful story.
What’s funny is I didn’t realize that was the hinge of the whole experience until later. In the chair, it just felt calm. It was only afterward that I thought, oh. I feel recognized. That’s new. That’s different.
Your comment helps me see the arc more clearly. Thank you for reflecting that back to me 🧡
Ahh love this article and what I wouldn't give to get my haircut again in Flint Michigan. Flint Michigan, I know it well. I grew up in a small town on the outskirts of Flint. I would get my lunch in downtown Flint when I worked at the community mental health center there. The barber sounds familar.
What you mention, "I didn’t build that container. He did.", is very poignant. That container - to be heard, respected, cared for, listened to - when we are very young this kind of space needs to be provided for us but as we grow and age - part of our ongoing maturation is to learn how do we create these spaces for ourselves?
Is it not part of what we try hard to provide in the sacred space of therapy?
We here a lot about the importance of self-care from "how to" writers. I've used that term myself. Taking time out to trim one's own beard, or do one's own nails (or any other slow down and take a moment for yourself type things). But to allow someone else to do that same task and provide a safe decompression "container," that takes caring for self up to another level.
We all need it, but how often do we allow ourselves the opportunity to really seek out this level of self-care. I love how you showed us another way of taking up space in a safe way.
This really resonates. I didn’t realize how unfamiliar it was for me to just sit there and be cared for until I was in the chair. My body almost didn’t know what to do with that kind of quiet attention. It was surprisingly emotional, in a soft way.
Oh, friend, I feel all of this with you (minus getting a beard trimmed - hahaha). It's strange this synchronicity, because I awoke at 3 AMish and scribbled in my journal that I just want to be in a position where I'm not the one who's in the spotlight. I don't want to constantly be "on" for everyone else - tending to everyone else, listening to everyone else.
Who is going to let me simply sit back? Who's going to listen to me?
So I'm grateful for your words, always. They remind me that there is someone else walking this parallel path alongside me. We are figuring this out together. And that matters a great deal to me. I find strength in what you share, Alex. Thank you.
“I don’t want to constantly be on for everyone else.” Yes. That is such a clear, brave sentence. So many of us are walking around as the emotional lighting crew for other people’s lives. It makes sense that your body is asking for a different posture.
I’m curious, what would it feel like for you to not be in the spotlight for a while? What kind of space are you secretly hoping for, even if you can’t quite name it yet?
"Emotional lighting crew" tracks. That's an apt phrase, Alex. I'm guessing you feel this way, or have felt this way, too.
Stepping back is hard for me. I deeply care about people. I love with a ferocity and intensity that's hard to define. I'm not sure many people in my life know or understand that. So to say I need to step out of the spotlight means, right now, that I need others to notice I'm hurting, too. I need people who say they care about me to check on me periodically and to offer to listen to me once in a while.
I'm still happy to sit in the chair and allow someone else the space to share whatever they need to. It would just be refreshing - an exhale - if I felt there was some balance in my life with others doing the same for me. I guess more equilibrium between giving and receiving.
This is what massages are for me. Substitute barber and beard for massage therapy and knotted muscles, it is remarkably similar. I allow myself the cost and luxury of being held without guilt. For one hour I am tended to, each knotted muscle and pain is gently worked away. I lay on her table; her expert fingers find my anxieties and release them. When the hour is over, I am in an entirely different state and attitude. My body moves with painless ease. I let it be my turn to be cared for.
I love how you wrote, “her expert fingers find my anxieties and release them.” That is such an honest description of what good care can do. The body carries so much story, and sometimes it just wants permission to soften. We find these spaces of care. They are all around us!
Such an insightful, calming read. I'm glad you shared about your experience being tended to. It's such a good reminder. Too often we make it harder than it need be to be seen, heard, held. There are people out there who want to help, tend to us, or whatever it mght be but often we don't let them. Sometimes, we just need to "sit down in the chair" and allow them to do that tending. That, too, is a choice. Maybe one we need to choose more often.
This is so lovely. Hair cuts didn't used to mean much to me—I rarely treated myself to a salon experience. Then I found myself preparing for chemo. My stylist treated me with such care and love when I came in a couple weeks before treatment started. His dad was going through treatment for cancer and we talked and he massaged my scalp and tended to me. And then, after treatment, when my hair was fragile after scalp cooling, he was the person who celebrated with me and cheered over new growth. He's tended to my emotional cancer wounds as much, or more, than any doctor. Hurray for the all the people who prepare soft spaces for us.
This brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for sharing something so personal here.
The way you describe him massaging your scalp before treatment, then celebrating new growth after, that feels holy in the most human sense. I am so glad you were tended to like that. Hurray, truly, for the ones who prepare soft spaces when everything feels hard.
Holy is a good word for it. Thank you for preparing those soft spaces here on Substack, too.
This is such a beautiful sentiment. In the minutes before reading it I actually found a piece of my hair that my kids had saved right before I started chemo! I let them each cut some off the night before I shaved my head. Feels so serendipitous that this comment was here literally 60 seconds after I came across this relic from two years ago. I also had an amazing experience at my hairdresser when this happened - pixie cut for free before my husband shaved my head and then wig styling for free. Amazing who shows up for us when we need them. Thank you for sharing this beautiful story.
So lovely to connect with you here, Bridget.
Yes, felt like kismet to see what you wrote ❤️❤️
“He focused on the moment. I left feeling recognized.”
What a brilliant encapsulation of cause and effect—how attention becomes connection. Love this!!
What’s funny is I didn’t realize that was the hinge of the whole experience until later. In the chair, it just felt calm. It was only afterward that I thought, oh. I feel recognized. That’s new. That’s different.
Your comment helps me see the arc more clearly. Thank you for reflecting that back to me 🧡
Ahh love this article and what I wouldn't give to get my haircut again in Flint Michigan. Flint Michigan, I know it well. I grew up in a small town on the outskirts of Flint. I would get my lunch in downtown Flint when I worked at the community mental health center there. The barber sounds familar.
What you mention, "I didn’t build that container. He did.", is very poignant. That container - to be heard, respected, cared for, listened to - when we are very young this kind of space needs to be provided for us but as we grow and age - part of our ongoing maturation is to learn how do we create these spaces for ourselves?
Is it not part of what we try hard to provide in the sacred space of therapy?
This touched me. Flint, community mental health, barbershops. It all carries its own kind of sacredness.
And your question about therapy feels like a quiet yes. A room where someone can exhale without earning it. It is both a science and an art.
Thank you for bringing your own story into the thread. It makes the whole thing feel more alive.
We here a lot about the importance of self-care from "how to" writers. I've used that term myself. Taking time out to trim one's own beard, or do one's own nails (or any other slow down and take a moment for yourself type things). But to allow someone else to do that same task and provide a safe decompression "container," that takes caring for self up to another level.
We all need it, but how often do we allow ourselves the opportunity to really seek out this level of self-care. I love how you showed us another way of taking up space in a safe way.
This really resonates. I didn’t realize how unfamiliar it was for me to just sit there and be cared for until I was in the chair. My body almost didn’t know what to do with that kind of quiet attention. It was surprisingly emotional, in a soft way.
Oh, friend, I feel all of this with you (minus getting a beard trimmed - hahaha). It's strange this synchronicity, because I awoke at 3 AMish and scribbled in my journal that I just want to be in a position where I'm not the one who's in the spotlight. I don't want to constantly be "on" for everyone else - tending to everyone else, listening to everyone else.
Who is going to let me simply sit back? Who's going to listen to me?
So I'm grateful for your words, always. They remind me that there is someone else walking this parallel path alongside me. We are figuring this out together. And that matters a great deal to me. I find strength in what you share, Alex. Thank you.
“I don’t want to constantly be on for everyone else.” Yes. That is such a clear, brave sentence. So many of us are walking around as the emotional lighting crew for other people’s lives. It makes sense that your body is asking for a different posture.
I’m curious, what would it feel like for you to not be in the spotlight for a while? What kind of space are you secretly hoping for, even if you can’t quite name it yet?
"Emotional lighting crew" tracks. That's an apt phrase, Alex. I'm guessing you feel this way, or have felt this way, too.
Stepping back is hard for me. I deeply care about people. I love with a ferocity and intensity that's hard to define. I'm not sure many people in my life know or understand that. So to say I need to step out of the spotlight means, right now, that I need others to notice I'm hurting, too. I need people who say they care about me to check on me periodically and to offer to listen to me once in a while.
I'm still happy to sit in the chair and allow someone else the space to share whatever they need to. It would just be refreshing - an exhale - if I felt there was some balance in my life with others doing the same for me. I guess more equilibrium between giving and receiving.
Thank you for sharing. Wish someone would hold me, even for a minute.
Thank you Yvonne. You are always welcome, here. 🧡
I love going to the barber, for all the reasons you mentioned :)
Haha, I rarely do it, but it is always a treat!
This is what massages are for me. Substitute barber and beard for massage therapy and knotted muscles, it is remarkably similar. I allow myself the cost and luxury of being held without guilt. For one hour I am tended to, each knotted muscle and pain is gently worked away. I lay on her table; her expert fingers find my anxieties and release them. When the hour is over, I am in an entirely different state and attitude. My body moves with painless ease. I let it be my turn to be cared for.
I love how you wrote, “her expert fingers find my anxieties and release them.” That is such an honest description of what good care can do. The body carries so much story, and sometimes it just wants permission to soften. We find these spaces of care. They are all around us!
“I didn’t wait for better conditions to be a person worth tending to.
I showed up. I sat down. I let someone else hold the container for an hour.”
I love the way you describe this. So simple, yet rarely easy. But always necessary in this life. 💛
“So simple, yet rarely easy.”
Exactly!
That might be the truest summary of so much of being human. The most basic things, showing up, sitting down, letting care in, can take real courage.
Hi Alex,
Such an insightful, calming read. I'm glad you shared about your experience being tended to. It's such a good reminder. Too often we make it harder than it need be to be seen, heard, held. There are people out there who want to help, tend to us, or whatever it mght be but often we don't let them. Sometimes, we just need to "sit down in the chair" and allow them to do that tending. That, too, is a choice. Maybe one we need to choose more often.