My hair is my pride and the thing that I’ve always felt confident about.
Much like my daughter, I didn’t really get any hair until I was 2.
I was so aware of my lack of hair that as soon as I had any, I would invite anyone and everyone to take a look at my “big hair”.
And big did it get. I have often joked I was born in the wrong decade for the hair alone. If my understanding of high school in the 80s is accurate (and I think it is), popularity was directly linked to just how big you could get your hair.
I’ve struggled with body image, but my hair always brought me comfort. I’ve experimented with all kinds of colors and styles, and always found I could make them work for me. I have a close, personal relationship with my hair dresser, who has been with me through years of changes.
So now I face starting chemo next week, which will take that from me. Take 33 years of thick, luxurious hair. When faced with the idea of my long locks falling out, I hate the image. I hate the idea of long chunks falling out. So I took control of that.
Bring it on. It’s only hair.