As I embrace my natural grey, I’ve been overwhelmed by the positive response from the women in my life. It feels like a celebration of confidence, authenticity, and aging on our own terms. When I shared this growth with my mom—the woman who has rocked her grey for most of my life, much to the dismay of her older sister—her response was unexpected.

She looked at me, smiled, and asked, “What does your husband think?”

Without hesitation, I answered, “Why does it matter? He’s incredibly lucky to have landed me, no matter what my hair color is.” And that’s not a jab at my husband—he’s fabulous. I just know my worth, and I’m well aware that his good fortune has nothing to do with the shade of my hair.

My mother, never one to miss a beat, responded with her signature sly grin and told me a story about when she first cut her hair short. My dad took one look at her and asked if she was “changing genders.” Her response? She never grew it out again. She wore her short hair proudly, proving that no one—not even her husband—would dictate how she presented herself.

That moment made me realize something: influences have always been around. Long before social media, before beauty trends dictated by algorithms, and before a boardroom full of men decided what’s “in,” my mother was my greatest influence.

If someone at school wasn’t nice to me? She’d tell me they were just jealous of my big, beautiful eyes.
If I worked hard on something and didn’t get the grade I wanted? The teacher clearly didn’t understand what made me amazing.
But if I didn’t put in the effort? She was the first to call me out on it.

When I stepped out in my junior prom dress, wondering if I needed a bra, she glanced at me and said, “Bandaids will do.” And to this day, I’m still bra-free most days, letting the ladies live in freedom.

When I wanted to dye my hair in high school, she shut it down. While she was paying my bills, she wasn’t going to support any unnecessary alterations to my appearance. She had no problem walking into my elementary school and warning the principal that if anyone messed with my self-esteem, she would sue. At the time, I was mortified.

Now? I get it.

I look in the mirror, and the unwavering confidence that so many people comment on? It started with her.

She taught me how to slay.

How to cut someone down with a glance.

How to walk into a room knowing exactly who I am.

And I hope I can pass that on. I hope my daughters recognize that we define what is beautiful. That they never let anyone else dictate their worth. And to my stunning mother—who wears whatever she damn well pleases, regardless of the dress code—thank you.

Thank you for being my first influencer before social media, before the beauty industry, before a bunch of executives decided to tell women what is “acceptable.”

You were louder than all of them.

And I was listening.

Good news—you won’t have to sue Estabrook Elementary. My confidence is still very much intact.

Check out my new YouTube channel, Thrive Beyond Diagnosis, where I’ll be sharing more about my journey to feeling amazing at any age—no matter the diagnosis!