Dear Readers,
This morning started in panic. My dreams were haunted by nightmares — flashes of Welcome to Derry, Episode 2 — replaying over and over until I woke up in a cold sweat. My heart was racing, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell if I was still dreaming. It took a few deep breaths and some quiet grounding before I felt steady enough to start my day.
When I finally got up, the chaos had already begun. I found out Parm had called out while I was asleep, which meant I’d be running between two locations instead of one. While I was getting ready, Bitey hopped on the call, and we started talking. She wanted me to finish the show that had scared me so badly, and I told her there was no way — horror and I simply don’t mix. Then, Bisa joined, and suddenly they were both teasing me about watching it again. I know they meant it playfully, but my emotions got the better of me. I spiraled into tears, full sobs, overwhelmed by the thought of being pushed back into something that had already scared me so much. I didn’t express myself well — I just broke down.
By the time work started, I’d managed to calm myself enough to mute my tears and push through. The day passed in a blur. I stopped by one location just to drop off roll sheets and update the instructors that Parm was out, then drove to the second where I had to teach in the water myself.
But as the day was ending, I found something far worse than exhaustion — black mold covering the wall behind our supply closet. Thick patches, damp, and slightly musty. My stomach dropped. After documenting everything and cleaning what I could safely reach, I called it a day. There’s only so much one person can do when it feels like every problem just keeps growing mold of its own.
I raced home to change for my 3 p.m. haircut appointment, no time for a proper shower or even to wash the chlorine out of my hair. Still, I made it early — a small win. The stylist was lovely, and by the end, I felt lighter in more ways than one. She cut off about four to five inches and gave me bangs. It had been five years since my last haircut, and honestly, I felt beautiful — freer.
Then I called my mom.
And the moment I heard her tone, I regretted it. She criticized everything — that I went to Supercuts instead of her expensive salon, that they didn’t wash my hair, that $50 was “wasted.” She told me it must have been cut badly because I didn’t spend $500. It hurt, not because of what she said, but because I loved how I looked — and suddenly I didn’t anymore. When I got home, my brother’s first words weren’t kind either. It felt like my excitement was snuffed out before it could even bloom.
For most of my life, my mother and grandmother controlled my hair — always cutting it short, always insisting it look a certain way. I used to be teased that I looked like the brown mushroom from Mario, but truthfully, it never felt like me. Today was the first time I made the choice myself. And even if I’m second-guessing it now, I know deep down that I did something brave — something for me.
Still, emotions are heavy things. When I sent a picture to Bisa and he didn’t respond right away, my heart twisted again. Rationally, I knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but in that moment, it felt like confirmation that everyone hated my hair. Maybe it’s just the exhaustion talking, or the emotional hangover from the morning, but it’s hard to hold confidence when it feels like the world disagrees with you.
Later, Bisa, trying to make me smile, turned on one of my favorite movies — Lilo and Stitch. I’ve loved that movie since childhood, and I can still recite every line by heart. It worked, in a quiet way. Bitey joined the call, and though none of us talked much, the comfort of their company helped settle me.
I cooked homemade spaghetti and meatballs for dinner — a small comfort, something warm and familiar. And now, as I sit here writing to you, I can feel the weight of the day finally catching up to me. Between nightmares, mold, tears, and tangled emotions, I’m drained.
But even through all of it, there’s this quiet whisper in the back of my mind reminding me:
It’s just hair. It will grow again. And so will I.
I think I’ll call it an early night tonight — curl up, breathe deeply, and let tomorrow come gently.
With love,
Monique
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