At 51, my curls started "acting up." Nothing major. A flat bit at the crown. A morning here and there where they just wouldn't do anything.
The kind of thing you blame on the weather and forget about...
But it didn't stay that way.
It crept up on me. Like a slow leak in a tyre. You never see it going down. You just walk out one morning and it's flat.
First it was my hot rollers.
I used to put them in before every night out and have a fantastic, bouncy curl all evening. Now the curls basically fell out in an hour. By the time we sat down to dinner, they'd dropped.
I stopped bothering.
Then it was my mornings.
It took me decades to settle on a routine that consistently worked. Now the same products gave me four different textures on one head. The top half waved. The underneath went straight.
I wish my hair would just decide already.
Then it was the grey.
The grey coming in at my temples felt like Christmas tinsel. Limp and coarse at the same time. That was the bit his fingers caught on.
Then it was the bedroom.
After that Sunday, I started going to bed with my hair scraped back. Every night. Clip on the bedside table. Hair tie on my wrist.
When Rob reached over, I'd turn my head.
After a while, he stopped reaching.
Eighteen months of going to bed with my hair tied up.
Eighteen months of turning my head away.
Eighteen months of my husband not knowing what he'd done wrong.
And it spread from there. I stopped wearing it down anywhere. "I don't even style it anymore," I told my sister. "I just slap it in a bun."
I stood at the back of every photo.
And I watched my daughter Ellie shake out the curls I used to have.
And that Sunday night? That was only the start.
The worst was a Tuesday in March. I came out of the bathroom with the clip already in. Rob was sitting on the edge of the bed. He didn't look up.
"Deb," he said quietly. "Did I do something?"
I went back into the bathroom and cried into a towel so he wouldn't hear.
Not because of my hair. Because he thought it was him.
That's when I saw what this had taken from me.
My hot rollers. My mornings. Being in the photos. Wearing it down. Rob's hand in my hair.
I didn't feel like me anymore.
And I had no idea that a few months later, I'd be the one reaching for his hand...