Liana entered the kitchen with her head held high, but I noticed the tension in her posture. Her bright blue hair was still damp, and the color was so vivid, it seemed to almost glow under the light. Her mother, my daughter, was not pleased. Liana had been grounded for the hair color, had her phone taken away, and had been subjected to the “I’m so disappointed in you” speech. I decided to stay out of it initially, but as I watched Liana’s quiet defiance, I felt compelled to talk to her later.
When I sat down with her, I asked, “So, why blue?” She shrugged, pulling at the sleeve of her hoodie. “I just wanted to,” she replied, but I didn’t believe her. No one just wakes up and dyes their hair neon blue. I pressed further, and after a long pause, she opened up.
Her voice was smaller than usual when she said, “Because… I needed to feel like myself again.” I listened closely, sensing this wasn’t about the color of her hair.
Struggling with Change
Liana explained that ever since her parents’ divorce, everything had felt different. Her mother kept telling her to act more mature, help out around the house, and be a responsible older sibling. She had been tasked with growing up, even though she was still a child. “I don’t feel like me anymore,” Liana admitted. “I feel like someone Mom wants me to be.”
As I listened, my heart ached. I had known Liana as a bright, funny girl, always quick with a joke. But now, she seemed smaller, weighed down by expectations that weren’t hers to carry. I asked, “What about school? Friends? Can you talk to them about how you’re feeling?”
Liana looked away and shrugged. “People think I’m weird,” she said. “They think I’m sulking, but I’m not. I just don’t know how to talk about it. It’s embarrassing.”
Theresa’s Concerns
Before I could respond, Liana’s mother, Theresa, stormed into the kitchen, arms crossed and a stern look on her face. “I see she found someone to vent to,” she said sharply. “She’s still grounded for breaking the rules.”
The tension in the room escalated. Liana kept her eyes down, gripping her mug tightly. I calmly asked Theresa if we could talk in private. She agreed, though I could tell she was irritated. We moved to the living room, where I shared what I had learned. “Liana’s not acting out for attention,” I said. “She’s struggling. She feels lost, and she’s looking for control in a world that’s changed too quickly for her.”
Theresa seemed to soften for a moment. She admitted that she had been hard on Liana, and that part of her guilt came from asking too much of her daughter. “I worry she’ll make mistakes she’ll regret,” Theresa said, her voice filled with concern. “I lean on her to help with her little brother, and it’s too much.”
I reassured her, “Liana just wants to feel like a kid. She’s trying to figure out who she is outside of everything that’s been thrust upon her.”
Finding Common Ground
Theresa listened quietly, reflecting on my words. “I’ll talk to her,” she finally said. Later that night, Liana was in the spare room, looking through old board games. When I checked on her, she asked if I had spoken to her mother. “She wants to talk to you,” I said. “But I think she’s starting to understand.”
Liana hesitated, eyes brimming with emotion. “Is she still mad at me?” she asked.
“She’s worried,” I said gently. “But I think she’s going to ease up on your punishment.”
Liana let out a small sigh of relief. “I never meant to hurt anyone,” she said quietly. “I just wanted something that was mine.”
I gave her a side hug. “I know, sweetheart. And for what it’s worth, I think it looks kind of cool. If I were your age, I’d probably dye a streak of purple in my hair just to feel free for a while.”
This small gesture seemed to make Liana feel a little lighter.
Moving Forward
Later that evening, I overheard Liana and Theresa talking. The conversation seemed more open, less tense. Liana explained how suffocated she had felt by the expectations placed on her. Theresa apologized for putting so much pressure on her. There were some tears, but also laughter—a sign of healing.
A few minutes later, they both emerged from the living room. Theresa looked at me with a nod. “We’re going to try counseling,” she said. “Maybe family therapy. And Liana’s going to try out for the school drama club.” She turned to Liana. “If you want to keep the blue for a while longer, I guess that’s okay.”
Liana smiled shyly, looking more like her old self. “Thanks for listening, Auntie. For not just blowing up at me.”
The weeks that followed were better. Liana joined the drama club, made new friends, and began to reconnect with her own identity. Theresa, too, found a better balance, allowing Liana the space to be a teenager while still asking for help when necessary.
One evening, I found Liana flipping through an old family photo album. She paused on a picture of herself as a child, grinning with pigtails, before turning the page to show a recent picture with her bright blue hair. “It’s weird,” she said, “how something as small as hair color can make you feel… understood. Even if it’s just by yourself.”
I squeezed her shoulder. “That’s part of discovering who you are. No one can take that away from you.”
Liana smiled, closing the album. “Yeah. Mom and I… we’re okay. We’re still hurting, but we’re hurting together.”
The whole experience reminded me that self-expression—whether through hair color or a new hobby—can be an important part of finding yourself. Liana’s journey showed me how powerful a small act of independence can be, and how important it is to listen first before passing judgment. Sometimes, it’s not about the choice itself, but the deeper reason behind it.
