You know what they don’t tell you when you’re growing up? That one day you’ll wake up and find a rogue chin hair thick enough to tow a small car. They prepare you for puberty, sure — although in my case, I have school to thank for that. My family didn’t talk about things like that. It was all hush-hush, locked away in some emotional storage box no one had the key for.
But back to the chin hairs.
They just show up one day like, “Alright, love? We live here now.” At first it’s one. Just one. You tell yourself it’s a fluke. A one-off. A rogue follicle having an identity crisis. And then before you know it, you’re rocking a five o’clock shadow that could rival your ex-boyfriend’s. What started as a minor inconvenience now has its own postcode.
And suddenly you’re stood under the worst lighting imaginable, in a 10x magnifying mirror, questioning all your life choices and wondering why no one warned you that facial landscaping would become part of your weekly routine. You’ve barely nailed down adulthood and now this?
It’s funny, in a not at all funny kind of way. No one gives you a heads-up about the gradual shift, from carefree nights out to carefully timed caffeine so you don’t ruin your sleep schedule. From teenage tantrums to tweezing in secret. From dreaming about your future to simply trying to keep up with the present.
And the worst part? It creeps in slowly. You think you’re fine, that you’re still young and vibrant, and then boom, there’s a chin hair. And it’s always long enough to suggest it’s been growing for weeks, laughing behind your back like a sneaky little bastard.
But maybe that’s the metaphor here. The things we don’t see until we’re forced to. The parts of ourselves were not prepared for, emotionally, physically, hormonally. Maybe chin hairs are the universe’s way of saying, Hey, it’s okay that you don’t have your shit together yet.
Because I don’t.
I’m still figuring out who I am beyond the responsibilities, beyond the silence I grew up with, beyond the masks I learned to wear just to keep the peace. I’m healing. I’m growing. I’m occasionally crying in front of the fridge. And yeah, I’m plucking my chin hair while I do it. But I’m still here.
So if you’re reading this, furiously rubbing your chin and wondering if this is your life now, well don’t worry. It doesn’t define you. You’re not alone. And no, you’re not going mad. You’re just living life… one surprise hair at a time.
– Lottie James
Healing. Sarcastic. Slightly hairy.
Thirty Something Plus VAT 