I began this blog as a way to redefine, or perhaps rediscover, the beauty of ME after losing all my hair to alopecia universalis over 5 years ago. Join me in the movement to see ourselves and our world through a lens not offered by our culture.
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

What They're Missing

Ripple_effect

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.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

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.