We are all hiding: From corporate masks to grey hair truths

My hair started going grey at 27. For over 20 years, I’ve been tinting it—until now. In September, I decided to stop.

When I quit my corporate job in 2018, it took over a year to figure out who I really was. It wasn’t just my grey hair I was hiding – it was me. As a newbie entrepreneur, I defaulted to showing up on social media by using filters to soften my wrinkles and smooth out my skin to appear younger.

In corporate, we hide behind the masks of professionalism. We pretend we have it all together because we have to. It’s part of the game. I did it for years. And on Instagram, it’s all about the highlights reel… like must look perfect.

But leaving corporate was my first step toward showing up as my true self, though it took a while to stop playing that role. Stopping the tint is another step in that journey.

Over the years, I’ve tried every shade – blonde, brunette, and even almost black during COVID. But as I’ve gotten older, hiding my greys has gotten more difficult to do. Every four weeks, I’d go to the salon, but after 10 days, that white band would start creeping back.

It felt like any sign of aging or imperfection had to be hidden in the corporate world, and then on social media.

But now I’m tired. I’m tired of pretending.

If my coaching business encourages people to show up, be vulnerable, and be themselves, it starts with me.

They call it “grey blending,” but for me, it’s more about transitioning. I transitioned out of corporate and into entrepreneurship and it didn’t happen overnight. It’s been a journey of learning, shedding old layers, and figuring out what works for me. Going lighter didn’t work for me, so I’m trying the darker route of matching the peppers in my hair to a demi-colour wash as the hair grows out.

Corporate made me hard, self-preserving. Social media filters appear fake and inauthentic. Tinting does the same. So many people have commented that the grey hairs actually soften my face.

And that I’m brave….

Ironically, I feel freer. I can breathe again. But I’m not “embracing” my greys yet. To embrace means welcoming something fully, and I’m not there.

I prefer the word recognize.

I choose to recognize that I’m getting older—I’ll be 50 next year. I recognize that it’s not just my hair that’s changing. It’s my face, my body, my mind.

As women, we are experts at hiding. We hide our emotions, fears, and insecurities. And in doing so, we lose pieces of ourselves.

We tint our hair, cover our wrinkles, soften our stories, all to fit into the boxes society creates for us. But hiding creates distance. It builds walls between who we are and who we think we need to be.

When I left corporate, I didn’t know who I really was. That’s what hiding does—it makes you forget.

And if we are to change the toxic culture of social media, it starts with social media coaches, like myself, showing up as me.

So, stopping the tinting is just the beginning for me as I head into my 50s, the youth of old age, as they say. I really like this saying!

It’s been hard. I’ve struggled with seeing the silver streaks, with trying to accept it.

I’m not fully embracing it yet, but I’ve taken the first step. And that’s often the hardest part of any change.

Let lockdown anxiety run its course

Lockdown anxiety finally broke me. It stole the last flicker of hope I was clinging on to and I’m not the only one who has just about had enough.

But I’m a denialist. I deny that COVID is out of control. I deny that my country is burning. I deny that things globally are in a real fucking mess. But they are.

I’m tired of hearing about the government. Of corruption. Of failure. I’m tired of not having answers. I’m tired of not knowing what to do or say. I’m sick of the negativity.

So my only escapism is to head to track twice a week and run laps around a dry grassy field. Alone with my thoughts and possibly the only hour I have without checking into social media.

And then this happened…

Chatting to my running coach on Saturday put things into perspective. We always start each new month discussing (negotiating) running goals. But this time was different.

Without asking, she said this:

“Bron, there is no need to push. There are no races to train for. All I want is for you to enjoy your running. Take it easy.

This isn’t about PBs. It’s not about the distance. It’s about getting out there and being consistent. Let’s get to September and then relook things.

But for now, all I want you to do is hang in there and do what you can. Don’t put anymore pressure on yourself.”

And that’s all I needed to hear…

Just hang in there. Ride this wave. Let it happen. Let it wash over me and move on.

There’s no need to put pressure on myself. We’re all struggling. There are no prizes. Even though just getting through the day deserves a medal.

And to control what I can. I can manage 3km runs and track twice a week, and that’s all that’s expected of me.

I can’t control what’s going on in my country, and no one is expecting me to. I can’t control how people react. I can’t change how others deal this pandemic. But I can run.

We’re a month away from Spring. Let’s ride this wave …

Dear God, when Corona is all over, I promise never to hate running again

Yeah, yeah. Famous last words. When I was growing up, I remember making a similar promise to God.

My mom tripped over a tree stump in the garden and dislocated her elbow. Crying in absolute agony, my Dad rushed her to the hospital to have it reset.

Seeing my mom writhing in pain was frightening. The hours waiting for her to return from the hospital dragged on and as night fell, I remember lying in the dark in my bed praying.

I prayed so hard. I promised to stop being a brat of a teenager. I promised to never lie again. I made a pact with God that if He took my mom’s pain away and brought her back home, I’d do whatever it took to be the perfect daughter. (Well, let’s just say I did my best).

I miss running. I miss the races. I miss track. I miss my running coach and all the other runners. I miss the freedom of heading out the door and choosing from a variety of running routes to run around my home.

I feel like that awkward teenage girl, pleading with God to heal the world so that I can go run.

Because I only realise now that when it’s taken away from me, that I really don’t hate running, I love it.

So God, this is my promise.

Runners FOMO

Both KK and I pulled out of the Two Oceans road race this year. KK’s fractured femur is still healing & I had not trained enough to be sure that my ankle would make 3 hours out on the road after my December injury.

In the two days running up to the race, our social media feeds were flooded with angry and frustrated runners who had been sorely let down at race registration. Delays in number collection, queues of over 2 hours at the race expo. Definitely not what runners need a day before a long race!

As we woke up at 5:25am on Saturday morning to catch the start of the half marathon broadcast on TV, snuggled under the duvet and hearing the wind howling outside, I did think for a minute “thank goodness I’m not running this year!”

The runners started to make their way over the finish line. One by one, the tracking app showed their results, their Facebook updates showed photos of medals and joyful celebrations. The FOMO began to creep in.

Later that morning, we drove through to Cavendish to do some shopping and weaved our way through some of the back markers on the race route with just an hour to go before final cut-off. It stung! That’s usually me!

Seeing the runners making their way up University Drive, remembering first hand how their tired bodies would be screaming with exhaustion to stop, but knowing that the finish line was so very close! From that last uphill stretch, you can hear the crowds, you hear the loud speakers, you can smell victory!

My heart had climbed out of my chest and was racing with them on that hot tar! I wished it was me! I wished that I was 1km away from my Two Oceans medal. Damn!

Another year will pass and I’m still trying to find my feet and map out where my running journey will take me this year. Shorter distances? More half marathons?

Whatever I decide, that Two Oceans ballot will open in November and I won’t hesitate. My love hate relationship with Two Oceans is bipolar. Some years I hate the race, other times I fall in love. This year I missed it and feel I need to come back and experience it all again.

Runners FOMO is the worst!