Yesterday, as I was getting my hair completely reformed, a lady walked in with her three-year-old little girl and two sons.
The little girl had adorable long curly hair, but her Momma said that she won't brush it, and she won't let anyone else brush it, so it gets very knotty. She wants the beautician--- my aunt has a sign that says, "I'm a beautician, not a magician." This totally applies to this miracle-worker.--- to cut this little girl's hair to her shoulders.
The little girl? Not happy. Not happy AT ALL....AND EVERYONE WITHIN A 15-MILE RADIUS KNEW IT.
She's SCREAMING.
This little girl is HYSTERICAL!
"Cali (I think that's what her brothers were saying), if you let her cut your hair, you'll get a treat."
"You want a lolipop?"
"You want a cracker?" (That was my offering.)
NOOOOOOOOOO!
There was about three minutes of:
"MAMA, YOU'RE CHOKING ME!
MAMA, YOU'RE CHOKING ME!
MAMA, YOU'RE CHOKING ME!..."
Mama wasn't choking her.
Then, about 6 minutes of:
"I DON'T WANT MY HAIR LIKE THAT!
I DON'T WANT MY HAIR LIKE THAT!
I DON'T WANT MY HAIR LIKE THAT!
I DON'T WANT MY HAIR LIKE THAT!
I DON'T WANT MY HAIR LIKE THAT!..."
Tears started to well up in my own eyes and my hairdresser had to tell me not to cry.
This child was not only feeling her own pain, but she was making sure that everyone else in the place were feeling pain as well.
I watched the other beauticians roll their eyes at each other.
A customer, who had been waiting, walked out.
Then, all of the sudden, I closed my eyes and started chanting in my head:
"She's calm. She's peaceful. She's happy.
She's calm. She's peaceful. She's happy.
She's calm. She's peaceful. She's happy...."
As her little sobs in between whichever distress cry she was emitting at that moment became more and more like her catching her breath, I just kept repeating in my head, now with complete trust that
She's calm. She's peaceful. She's happy.
She's calm. She's peaceful. She's happy.
She's calm. She's peaceful. She's happy...
I imagined my words wrapping around her in the sweetest, warmest hug that little girl ever felt.
I visualized her heartbeat slowing down to normal. I felt like while I was there, in my chair, looking like I was about to break into a version of "Beauty School Dropout", I was coaxing her breathing back to slow and steady breaths.
About three minutes and one long, deep, princessish sigh later, we sat in the midst of the calm after the storm.
That was it.
The beautician was only half-finished with her haircut.
Not one wimper, not one tear.
She sat there, quietly.
She sat there
calmly,
peacefully,
happily.
When her mother and I made eye contact again, she apologized that I had to hear that. (I was at the station closest to this ordeal.)
I told her what I had been doing and she told her boys to come over to us so that I could tell them.
I just said I was believing positive thoughts about her and she calmed down.
Right there, in Style America, I showed this woman The Secret.
The little girl had adorable long curly hair, but her Momma said that she won't brush it, and she won't let anyone else brush it, so it gets very knotty. She wants the beautician--- my aunt has a sign that says, "I'm a beautician, not a magician." This totally applies to this miracle-worker.--- to cut this little girl's hair to her shoulders.
The little girl? Not happy. Not happy AT ALL....AND EVERYONE WITHIN A 15-MILE RADIUS KNEW IT.
She's SCREAMING.
This little girl is HYSTERICAL!
"Cali (I think that's what her brothers were saying), if you let her cut your hair, you'll get a treat."
"You want a lolipop?"
"You want a cracker?" (That was my offering.)
NOOOOOOOOOO!
There was about three minutes of:
"MAMA, YOU'RE CHOKING ME!
MAMA, YOU'RE CHOKING ME!
MAMA, YOU'RE CHOKING ME!..."
Mama wasn't choking her.
Then, about 6 minutes of:
"I DON'T WANT MY HAIR LIKE THAT!
I DON'T WANT MY HAIR LIKE THAT!
I DON'T WANT MY HAIR LIKE THAT!
I DON'T WANT MY HAIR LIKE THAT!
I DON'T WANT MY HAIR LIKE THAT!..."
Tears started to well up in my own eyes and my hairdresser had to tell me not to cry.
This child was not only feeling her own pain, but she was making sure that everyone else in the place were feeling pain as well.
I watched the other beauticians roll their eyes at each other.
A customer, who had been waiting, walked out.
Then, all of the sudden, I closed my eyes and started chanting in my head:
"She's calm. She's peaceful. She's happy.
She's calm. She's peaceful. She's happy.
She's calm. She's peaceful. She's happy...."
As her little sobs in between whichever distress cry she was emitting at that moment became more and more like her catching her breath, I just kept repeating in my head, now with complete trust that
She's calm. She's peaceful. She's happy.
She's calm. She's peaceful. She's happy.
She's calm. She's peaceful. She's happy...
I imagined my words wrapping around her in the sweetest, warmest hug that little girl ever felt.
I visualized her heartbeat slowing down to normal. I felt like while I was there, in my chair, looking like I was about to break into a version of "Beauty School Dropout", I was coaxing her breathing back to slow and steady breaths.
About three minutes and one long, deep, princessish sigh later, we sat in the midst of the calm after the storm.
That was it.
The beautician was only half-finished with her haircut.
Not one wimper, not one tear.
She sat there, quietly.
She sat there
calmly,
peacefully,
happily.
When her mother and I made eye contact again, she apologized that I had to hear that. (I was at the station closest to this ordeal.)
I told her what I had been doing and she told her boys to come over to us so that I could tell them.
I just said I was believing positive thoughts about her and she calmed down.
Right there, in Style America, I showed this woman The Secret.
"When the student is ready, the teacher will be there."
The New Me
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