Can Depression Be Beautiful?

The flowers are beautiful, but they have lost their vitality. They are dried up and, by all accounts, dead. The candle looks lovely and ready to be lit for a romantic evening, but a closer look would reveal that the wick has burned through all the usable wax and no flame can be lit. Rain is falling softly on these representative elements.

This is my artistic representation of depression (since I can't paint). A still life. A life with remnants of past potential and energy. A life with no life in it.

Can this picture be redeemed? It can be infused with a new light source, but it can never capture a living bouquet or a soft flame. That would require an entirely new subject in front of the lens.

I have clinical depression. My grade has been assessed at the high end of "moderate". While I'm far from hopeless, I see my life as this photograph. I think there is something beautiful in my depression, because it has made me extremely sensitive to my emotions, my body, and beauty in the world.

But it has stripped me of the beauty I used to see in my potential for relationship and love. Depression has defined my self-image. Not only have I had to steadily convince myself that my alopecia is a gift and that I am a beautiful bald woman, I also battle thoughts on an hourly basis that tell me I am unlovable. I am an expert detective when it comes to gathering evidence that I have destroyed the relationships that are most central to my life--namely, with my husband and my kids.

I have glimpses of myself as a fun, generous, gracious, lovely person. But I take those images and tear at them with my nails in fits of guilt and shame.

 

Even the most beautiful moments, while recognized, are distorted as reminders of what I can't attain or enjoy. I hurt with the beauty I see around me as I abide within my melancholy. And the hardest part is figuring out how much of that is my disease and how much is a choice to remain in an identity that is known to me. Even looking at these pictures, I sense their sadness while also being awed at their loveliness.

Depression has kept me still. I try to move forward, but these dry wells and spent resources have preserved me under glass. Lovely, marred, unchanging.

The only hope I can see is to keep these photographs for their part on my story but open myself to new water, new filters, new light, and new resources. I know that comes from God. That is my unapologetic belief. But God's artistry is a mystery to me.

Brave(r)

I don't leave the house without eyeliner. When you don't have eyelashes you feel the need to fake it with makeup. I mean, why confront people with something that might make them uncomfortable? The only time I went without eyeliner was when I had pink eye. And I did my best to hide behind sunglasses for those two agonizing days.

Well, today I woke up with my eyes itching and decided to forego the eyeliner. Scarf, yes. Earrings, yes. Eyebrows, of course. But nothing around the eyes.

This takes guts for me. It seems silly, but it really takes guts. When I first lost all my hair and went back to my parents' house for a visit, I was self-conscious about walking around the house with nothing on my head or face. My mom said "You still look like you. It just looks like you have the flu." I really appreciated that comment in that moment, because I remembered that a pale face and lack of makeup doesn't change what we basically look like and how we are identified.

A few months ago, I was talking to someone (My boss maybe? I don't remember) and I was griping about having to put eyeliner on every day. She said "Well, you don't have to, but you feel more comfortable that way." I realized then that I'm not obligated to wear makeup so that other people don't have to face the awkwardness of looking at someone who has no hair. It's completely my choice.

So with those two comments in mind, I haven't put anything on today in order to give my itchy eyes a chance to breathe, irritant-free.

I did see a guy today who looked at me funny and said "Sorry, but I'm looking at--did you do something different with your eyebrows?" I immediately thought ("oh no, they're askew!"). But I think he was noticing the lack of eyeliner.

Until that little moment, and not his fault at all, I felt pretty comfortable about how I looked. I thought this morning that I don't look so bad without eyeliner.

I know that people who love me and support others with alopecia will comment and say I look beautiful no matter what. Regardless of what others say, it's very hard for me to see myself this way. But I get braver and more resilient every day.

By the way--I do think my eyebrows are askew! Haha...well, if it's not one thing it's another. Some people's eyebrows grow that way right? Stop focusing on it. ....

Further Proof

More examples of the selfishness of alopecia:

1. Work: A job interview is nerve-wracking enough without the added stress over what to do with this bald head. Between a bald head and a scarf, which will give off the least "harmful" impression? Alopecia practically forces me to go into an interview in a wig, which is, for me, the most uncomfortable way to cover my head. I shouldn't have to be thinking about that.

2. Vacation: To a certain degree, alopecia determines where (and if) I travel and which activities I do when (and if) I get there. Camping and hiking are okay but I don't want to take many pictures of my naked face. Makeup is not exactly a priority when you're in the woods. A cruise would be fun until the party at night, when I would again be faced with the question of which head covering (or uncovering) would look appropriate with the dress. I know it shouldn't matter, but it does. Really, I would only feel comfortable touring around a hip city where I could be comfortable in my scarves or baldness and look cool in pictures.

3. Cross-cultural family events: Pictures are important at family events, and in some cultures pictures are meant to show you at your best. Is a scarf good enough to wear to a wedding? Can I attend a graduation bald? Am I causing distress, distraction and disgrace by refusing to wear a wig?

Alopecia demands that I add these dilemmas to my already fretful mind. Selfish thing, alopecia.

Baldly selfish

Alopecia is selfish. It has a way of making life events and activities all about how it will look. Alopecia wants to flaunt itself but fears circumstances where it could be snubbed or rejected. Alopecia washes over joyous events with gray translucent paint, while highlighting in neon the times when we feel most disappointed or jealous.

My sister in law is pregnant. Seeing her pictures takes me back to my own swollen belly days. With my first, I was fascinated by every new movement. I was talking to the growing girl in my womb, my companion. I couldn't wait to get my pregnant belly full-grown.

Then, my body was hijacked by alopecia. With my second child, I was worried more about how my head looked on a pregnant body. I knew the sensations, I knew what to expect. But I didn't know how I would look as a bald expectant mother. What a contradiction--a woman who looks sick creating a healthy new life. I remember even worrying about how my son would look at me when he first opened his eyes. Without hair or eyebrows, I worried that he would fail to recognize signs of his mother's face, a face that should bear basic human characteristics.

With both pregnancies, I wanted to look like this:

(http://www.hartshornportraiture.com/portrait-gallery/pregnancy-photography/)

Although I had hair during my first pregnancy, it was of the short, frizzy, frumpy variety. (Sadly, those pictures were taken before we went digital. I'm sure I could dig them out of a box, but...)Despite my concerns, I think I looked way better as a bald pregger, actually. Not that I ever allowed pictures of myself bald...

 

 

 

 

 

Not the goddess on the beach, but my own pregnancy. And cute, I think--looking back on these five years later!

 

This is just one example of how I can feel fine about my baldness until I see a woman who seems to exude feminine beauty--and this is often due to her hair. That, and body shape. Oh, and I guess a great backdrop helps, too.

 

Once I see a photo of a woman that makes me feel diminished in my womanly features, I really have to work hard to get out of the funk and accept the features I was born with, having no choice in the matter. I have to acknowledge her beauty and wish for good health to continue for her, and then show some TLC to my own body and story.

 

I'm proud to say that, while the frequency of these jealous moments is no less than it ever was (let's face it, even before my alopecia), the duration of those negative feelings ("I hope her hair falls out") is not nearly as long as it used to be.

 

This reminds me of a future post. Winter has its banes for baldies: having to pile on thick layers of fabric on our heads to keep from freezing, no matter how heavy, etc. Now summer is coming soon, hopefully bringing heat with it. I don't know about other alopecians, but summer makes me anxious. How will I deal with swimming? Will my drawn-on eyebrows smear in the heat? Should I go bald to church picnics and Zumba class? More to come on this....

 

It's all about the baldness. Alopecia is so selfish.

 



Hostess with the Mostess

I have turned into quite the hostess. In the past couple months I have hosted Christmas dinner, a major game night, a Valentine's Day fundraiser party, a Saint Patrick's Day product party, and I have an eight-year-old's Disney-themed birthday coming up very soon. And each time I host, my stress level about being prepared has gone down. In the past when I have hosted parties, I have driven myself crazy trying to get food, decorations, activities, and even my outfit "just right". (It never worked, by the way.) But now I'm learning that taking on too much stress (well, any stress, really) has a profound effect on my mental and physical health.


So, being a hostess has increasingly become less about trying to turn my life into something I think other people will enjoy, and more about inviting people in to my life as it is (with a few little touch-ups).

Throwing a great party used to mean that I had to be the perfect hostess. That included looking the part. Red dress, hair in place (which means I had to agonize over whether to wear a wig), holding out a tray of little cucumber sandwiches. Now, I wear jeans and let the dirty dishes stay in the sink, as long as they are not peeking up over the edge. If I run out of time to make the dessert I was planning, I find some M&Ms in the cupboard and put those out. I have stopped apologizing for my odd-looking appetizers that didn't turn out like the ones on Pinterest.

And with summer coming, hopefully bringing heat with it, I intend on hosting bald. After all, hospitality is about creating shared space where real people can interact with real people, not creating a fantasy land where reality is deemed unsuitable. I have redefined hospitality and have discovered that I can be a great hostess just as I am. And people enjoy my parties, if I do say so myself. : )

You're Perfect

Being totally vulnerable here. I have been on anti-depressants for years. As long as I can remember, anxiety and negativity have been my shadows. The meds never quite got me to where I wanted to be, so a couple weeks ago my doctor recommended a new tactic: a mood stabilizer. With bipolar disorder in the family history, I decided to try it. (By the way, the decision to go on meds came after and has been accompanied by years of therapy, prayer, and attempts at lifestyle changes.)

The last week has been a nightmare. Yelling, crying, throwing things, traumatized children, the works. Yesterday, after another yelling match and mild physical tussle with my wonderfully strong-willed daughter (whose life companion is ADHD) and my increasingly assertive son, I started crying and apologizing, yet again. I started into a lengthy explanation of how my brain is not well and I am waiting for my special medicine to start working so I don't get upset so easily, etc.

My daughter stopped, looked at me with a look in her eyes I don't think I've ever seen before, and said "You're perfect."

I looked at her, and I must have had a question in my eyes because she went on: "I mean, sometimes you're not perfect but mostly you look perfect to me."

Take this from my story and others I've written about my children's perspective on my hair loss and life in general: If you're going to listen to anyone and take to heart what any other person says about you, let it be a child. We all know how innocently brutal children can be with their honest perceptions, but even with the flaws they see, they can name perfection when they see it. Their definition of perfection is so different from ours. Maybe I'm generalizing when really my moment with my daughter was unique--but I'm getting the feeling that kids are our best mirrors. Yes, we see the worst in ourselves reflected back through their hurts and shame. But that's something we all have to accept as-is. Because we also see reflected in their eyes a wonder at the capacity for love we all carry. We see a reflection of ourselves at our most carefree, our most dependent, and our most undiluted lovely.

Beautiful Insomniacs

I had my TV on the other day while I was having lunch at home, and I heard this:

"Can't sleep? Don't let your skin show it." It was an ad for Estee Lauder's new Advanced Night Repair. I was shocked, although I guess I shouldn't have been.

If you can't sleep, there are bigger problems than how your skin will look in the morning. I happen to be quite experienced in this area. Lack of sleep, as we all know, is an indicator of one of several issues: stress, illness, anxiety, depression, and children. Those issues all call for help, whether from professional care providers or a close circle of friends and family. But women are being told to hide all that and put on a fresh face. We are told that beauty is more important than mental health.

Honestly, I have purchased night cream before. Not this particular one, but still--I have bought into this culture's emphasis on looking young and refreshed at all times. I'm not saying we can't take care of our skin and look our best when we go out and have to be confident enough to make our way in what has historically been a man's world. But I am saying that ad agencies and cosmetic companies cross the line when they push a product at the expense of a woman's well-being.

If you have insomnia, please place greater importance on seeking help than on looking good.

(http://learntoembracethestruggle.com/the-insomnia-war/)