Missing My Hair

I’ve been wanting to talk about this topic for a while now.

I’m am 36 years old and have a head of hair like a 90-year-old woman.

No. Wrong. The majority of elderly women have more hair than me.

A 90-year-old man would be a better description.

I’m not one to be really upset that I have to wear hats and toques.

And Wigs. Oh, the wigs…

People have said to me “It must be fun to wear all different types of hairstyles”

I am never sure if they are serious or just trying to make me feel better.

But they probably have never had to wear one.

They lose their fun very quickly.

It gets old and becomes a huge pain.

In September 2000, I started Hair school at Marvel College.

It was 9 months long and so fun, as fun as school goes.

I got a job soon after graduation.

Over the next 10 years, I worked at 4 different salons.

I even worked at an old age home, giving haircuts and the perms to the residents there.

My Dad had set up a salon in the basement when I lived at home.

And when I got married and moved to a new home, my husband had made a new salon in that basement.

I did so much hair in my home.

I even did it after I had my first son.

He would be napping or in the jolly jumper that hung in the doorway of the home salon.

I loved it. It was a perfect set up, a perfect at-home job and one I enjoyed.

And then I got sick.

And for a length of time, I had to stop doing hair.

At that time, I also started losing my own hair.

I started losing it slowly,

First strands

Then clumps.

I so clearly remember being in the ICU, laying on my bed.

I turned my head to the side and my whole ponytail fell unto my chest.

I was devastated.

I knew it was going to happen.

It was inevitable. Par for the course.

But nothing can prepare you enough.

I cried. Alone in my room.

I mourned the loss of my shoulder-length hair.

I was 29 years old and bald.

This seems so trivial now.

With overcoming everything I went through.

And everything I am still going through.

Does losing hair really matter?

Does it change me?

Does it define who I really am?

There are times when I can answer yes to those questions.

But they are far and few between.

The more time that goes by, the less time I think about it.

I am who I m, with or without my hair.

And I’m ok with that.

Love,

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