Baby, It's Me

 

Don't label people.

 

I don't know how else to begin except by jumping into this. Although the problem of "beauty in baldness" is my reason for this blog, I want to write about the problem that is really closest to my heart:

 

Mental illness.

 

If you suffer from a mental illness, you will be labeled. People will look at you and see nothing but your illness.

Everything will go through that filter. If you get angry, which you often will because any emotion you feel is attributed to your ill brain rather than your heart-felt experience, any action you take based on that anger will be seen as exaggerated, and if you really lose your temper as many people do, those actions will be seen as dangerous, threatening, possibly psychotic. Never mind that many people lose their temper; yours is to be feared.

If you cry, you are over-emotional. If you lose your temper with your child, who by the way is physically attacking you in a temper tantrum out of his or her control due to another illness, you are not to be trusted to care for your child.

No doubt, a mental illness (depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder) really does change how you view the world and your power within it. But people struggling bravely with mental illness have as much right to express emotion as people struggling with mere "normal life". In fact, I would argue that we "crazy" people are more in tune with ourselves than those who have no idea what mental illness feels like.

But labelling us and predicting that we will lose control? That gets into our psyche and tells us that we will, in fact, lose control. That we can't, in fact, be trusted.

I really have a hard time believing caring people who tell me that the struggles in my life and family are not all my fault. Instead, I keep trying to find new therapies, workbooks, projects and prayers that will finally "work" to get me well so that peace can be restored to my chaotic home and love to my dysfunctional relationships. But I've tried it all--individual counseling of all kinds, group therapy, prayer groups, girl's nights out, pills and more pills...and I still lose my temper and cry when I feel sad. Go figure.

So what else can I do? I don't know how else to make people see me and not my illness. Or my baldness. Or my teaching. Or any other one part of me. I am a whole. And my experience of life is real.

I feel like the tree in the picture up there. I am standing alone, looking at a world filled with life, activity, excitement, and potential for love. But I can't move from my spot, stuck by my roots. I will bloom and be beautiful, but then I will droop again when the season calls for it. And people will walk by, assuming I am bound by my nature.

This is how I'm feeling today, reeling after recent days of difficult circumstances and hurtful words carelessly thrown around by me and others. I have other days when I'm feeling like my spot near the city is sacred ground, where I have my shape and my purpose and my beautiful view, and that I provide a place where people can see beauty and gather and feel inspiration.

Both of those experiences are valid and part of me. Not to be feared, not to be labeled, not to be walled off. I, like everyone, want to be loved. I am learning to understand how I am loved by God. Understanding how to love myself so I can love others? Well, that's much harder.

But I will get there. We all can. That's the beauty of life--we are constantly blooming and maturing and changing. Even when the leaves fall to the ground, the process of creation is playing out how it should.





I'm prettier than...

We have got to stop with the comparative statements of beauty.

"She's prettier than me."
"I wish I had her hair."
"If I had her legs, I would get a lot more attention."
"Man, look at that guy's biceps. Maybe I should start working out."
"I wish I could afford to look like that."
"How many people in this room look better than me?"
"How many people in this room do I look better than?"

It never ends. We seem to have constructed a continuum of beauty that we place ourselves and others on. But who decided the parameters?

I'm not as pretty as her:

(Meteorite ring model)

But am I prettier than her?


I'll get to the website where I got the second picture in a minute. First, I want to say that this is crap. Yes, I buy it and make these comparisons in my head all the time. But they are crap! The first woman is beautiful, no question. She has been worked on and made to look exceptional. The second woman has not had any enhancements. But does that mean she's not pretty?

This picture comes from a really great blog in which the author asks this and other questions of great importance. Please go read it.

The next time you find yourself comparing your attractiveness to someone else's, try describing particular features of theirs. Look at their hair and describe it to yourself: "She/he has thick, curly hair of such-and-such color." Then, describe your own: "I have thick, straight hair of such-and-such color." Then ask questions: "My hair gets frizzy in humid weather. I wonder if hers does? It must, because humidity naturally changes certain physical elements, like hair. It's science. I wonder how many times she had to brush her hair? I brushed mine 25 times."

Then look at their eyes. "His eyes are clear blue. The sun changes them in such-and-such way. My eyes are dark brown. The sun changes them in such-and-such way. I wonder if that person is wearing contacts? I am not, but I often feel like squinting. I wonder if he ever has to squint? I bet he does."

What I'm getting at is that since we naturally compare ourselves to others, we should use less subjective language and look more objectively at the differences between people. They are just differences. Noses come in all different shapes. Sometimes, these shapes give information about where we come from. Sometimes, these shapes give information about what we spend our money on. We all have different shoulders. Again, these can give information about our work, our heritage, or our health issues. They are just differences.

Actually, it can be kind of fun to look at people this way. You might start seeing beauty in the variations of the human form. You might start seeing faces equalize on the "continuum". You might start appreciating your own features individually and as the whole they make up.

So, the first woman is beautiful, the second woman is beautiful, I am beautiful, and you are beautiful. Why? Because we came from God's imagination, and when we stop to think about our intricacies and the threads we represent in the human tapestry, we have no choice but to be moved and awed by the gift we are to the world. Without our unique features, the tapestry would have a little flaw.

We don't have flaws that make us unattractive. The flaw would be if we didn't take our place in the spectrum of human beauty. The difference between a continuum and a spectrum is that a continuum starts at one point and moves forward to a final point (i.e. ugliness to beauty), while a spectrum allows different shades to be displayed in relation to the ones nearest. We can notice similarities in our features to others in our ethnic group or fashion club and differences between ourselves and people who really do look and dress vastly different, but that kind of comparison does not necessitate one being superior or more advanced than another.

Food for thought.

What They're Missing

Alopecia has a ripple effect. First and obviously, it affected me. I lost my hair, I suffered trauma from that which has yet to be fully dealt with, I have to grit my teeth and face the world bald every day.

From there, my immediate family has been affected. Two examples: first, on the night we discovered the Photo Booth app on our iPad, my husband and I were sitting on the couch with his sister and brother-in-law, and we were trying out all the funny distortions. My bald head standing out so brightly as we pointed the camera at ourselves was just too much for me to take. I couldn't look at the pictures. Then, of course we had to do the funny kaleidoscope effect, so the image of my white skull was multiplied and magnified. And I was...horrified.

The other example is not an event but a realization. Scrolling through Facebook today, I saw that many friends of mine took Easter family photos and posted them over the last few days. My husband asked why we didn't take one. Now, I'm not the kind of person whose mind immediately goes to "Let's take a picture" whenever there is an occasion to dress up or a special event happening. But since I lost my hair, the idea of a family photo instills a little fear. How will I look? Will I ruin the picture, either because my head is so white and unnatural-looking or because my scarf doesn't fit the occasion? On Easter Sunday I wore a cute new (from a secondhand store) yellow lace dress with a navy cardigan and navy flats. I was so excited to have put a new Easter outfit together, for the first time in years, that I forgot to plan what I would wear on my head. On Easter morning, it hit me that I had no scarves to match my outfit. I really didn't want to wear a wig though, because I had to be up front at church and I didn't want people to be distracted by the fact that I suddenly had a great head of hair. I settled for a beige scarf that didn't match at all but didn't clash so bad that it hurt the eyes to look at.

But now our family has no Easter photo to post. There are a lot of family photos we haven't posted because I don't want to be in them.

Moving outward, my alopecia has affected extended family and friends, largely for the reasons mentioned above. But also, as the ripples spread out concentrically, every person I come in contact with is affected by my alopecia because it is confrontational. It forces people to hesitate when they regard me, trying to decide whether or not to ask about my scarf or bald head. It gives people pause when they begin to talk about their bad hair days or the celebrity whose hair they envy. It makes people uncomfortable, even if to a very small degree and even if only for a brief moment.

I have, for a long time, wanted to keep the pain of this disorder for myself. My alopecia has been mine alone to suffer from. I have denied those around me the opportunity to voice what they have lost or felt because of this thing that happened to me. But I think it might(?) help me to allow others to come inside my grief bubble and sit with me. It may be easier to get out of it with the strength of a crowd.

Still grief

So. Apparently losing my hair is taking longer to "get over" than I thought. A psychiatrist (not one I'm seeing for treatment) recently told me that losing my hair was a traumatic experience that I have probably not dealt with enough in order to get full emotional healing. I thought "Come on, it's been years now. I don't love it, but I've accepted it."

Except that it occupies my thoughts a good 90% of the day. Even when I'm thinking of or doing other things, I'm keenly aware that I am bald.

Also, I have noticed an increase in nasty thoughts when I see women with long hair. Thoughts like "Do they have to flaunt it?" or "Come on, you're not being original." I hate the long hair trend these days. Long and straight. Boring. Unfair. "How dare you think you're so beautiful just because you can grow this long mop of hair?" "I hope all that hair falls out."

See? Nasty thoughts. So clearly I'm not "over" my hair loss. When I sit back and take stock, I believe it to be responsible for a major discontent that has pervaded and touched so many aspects of my life. Sure, I have always struggled with discontent and depression. But alopecia has added an extra dose of bitterness. I think this has affected my goals for my future, my relationship with my kids, and my marriage. No--I know it has.

So, what to do? Pray on it? Return to weekly counseling? I'm not sure. This blog helps, but it hasn't been the journey I had expected when I started.

For now, I think all I am ready to do is recognize my hair loss as a major, life-changing event that has had a profound effect on my development and identity. I need to honor that somehow. I wish photos of myself with hair had been digital. Alas, they are all on film. But I've tried to get some of those pictures in the best light I could with my phone.

This is a step in my grief process I guess. Going back, looking at myself with hair, and realizing that I really miss it. Grieve with me.


My hair used to bounce and sway to music. I could feel it on my back and I felt like a dancing princess.

My hair was adventurous, doing its own thing while being faithful to who I was. 

My hair was part of my allure, something he could touch and get lost in. A softness to complement his tough exterior.

 

 



 My hair was sophisticated. Changes in my hairstyle brought me into new stages of womanhood.

 

My hair went places and made great pictures.

 



 

 

My hair was my crowning glory on my wedding day. I had never felt so beautiful, so angelic.

 

 

 

To go from that to this

 

 

was jarring, to say the least. And it continues to be jarring every time I look in the mirror. After six years I still can't believe this happened to me. I had cut my hair short just before I lost it all, and I had been going through two years of bad hair days...but it was better than this.

 

I grieve. 



 

 



Guest author: Redefining worthiness

Have you seen the new Noah movie? I can't recommend it...and yet I can't stop thinking about it. My husband has been talking about it non-stop for days since we saw it. He loves the theme of redemption. I want to share this bit of writing he did about the issue of worth--who is worth saving? Who is worth redeeming? Who is beautiful, and who is ugly? Read on and enjoy. And please comment.

"The Creator takes him home"--John T.

I don’t watch a lot of movies.  Maybe once every two months.  I go to the theater even less, probably about once a year.  So naturally, my wife and I went to see Noah the weekend it came out.

A lot can be said about the movie, but I’m not a movie critic, so I’ll say only a little.  Having arrived late and finding ourselves 20 feet away from a giant screen, through much of the movie I was mostly preoccupied with not getting a stiff neck.  Or more to the point, I was preoccupied with my wife not getting a stiff neck:   “Turn your neck, don’t get stiff” (out of compassion, of course, and not concerned about future physical therapy bills…). 

After the movie, for once Wendy and I agreed on something: this was not a good movie.  I’m not big on labels, but in the 30 second walk to the car, we lobbed “corny,” “obvious,” “violent,” and other negative adjectives to describe the film.  But then I started thinking about it more, and found reasons to like it (Wendy sighs).    

For me, the dominant theme in Noah is the tension between lawlessness, justice, and redemption.  There is Noah, our mixed protagonist/antagonist, certain that humanity is hopelessly evil and beyond redemption.  And the wanton violence in the movie leaves you certain that he’s right.  The Creator is sending engulfing waters to wipe out humanity, save the animals (the “innocent”), and move on.  This is not a restart; it’s a shutdown. 

And then there are the fallen angels, encrusted in rock for disobeying God and coming to earth to help the wayward humans (you don’t remember the fallen angels from the Noah story?  Read Genesis 51…).  One scene in particular kept me thinking.  It had (surprisingly) started to rain very hard.  As they defend the Ark’s entrance from fallen humanity’s attempt to save itself, one fallen angel is “shot up” into the sky—his light breaking out of the rugged crust, leaving it to crumble.  A fallen angel next to him, also encrusted, is taken aback by the sight and, more importantly, by what it means:  “The Creator takes him home.” 

In his rough voice I couldn’t help but hear newfound hope.  There is hope even for us, the fallen encrusted angels, he thinks.  And with renewed vigor, he defends the Ark’s entrance. 

Noah reminds me that God sees hope where we don’t.  To the Creator, no one is beyond redemption - - no story, no person, no group.  To the Creator, no one is illegal, no one is ugly, no one is hopelessly evil, or forever fallen.  Do we like that about God?  Or do we see our own ugliness, and that of the world, and are certain that the Creator has nothing but justice and destruction on his mind?  Don’t get me wrong, we’re all fallen, and the Creator has true justice on his mind. But even the undocumented, the unlawful, the underachievers are never beyond the Creator’s reach.  The good news for the fallen angels, for criminals, for strangers, for us is that the Creator takes us to himself – that is home, that is redemption.