Mornings are always the worst time for my self-confidence to take a battering. Spending precious time in front of the bathroom mirror, pinning back stray strands of hair that don’t serve any purpose other than to remind me of what I don’t have. They fall this way and that, showing the many large patches my Alopecia has imposed on my scalp.
After my shower today I again stood in front of the mirror and sighed. There’s not enough hair there to wear it out and too much to not pin back to cover. The usual inner dialogue started up again ‘What if some falls forward from under your wig?’, ‘That patch is as big as my palm’, and the ever present ‘Yuck.’
Today I’m over it. I’m over waisting my time at the mirror when I could be doing something else with my life at that point. Cuddling my children, working, prepping for demos, chatting to hubby, playing the piano…
“Shave it off,” I instruct Hubby who’s relaxing on the bed beside our ensuite.
I take another big breath. Last time I resorted to shaving it off was this time 9 years ago. And it was a great big head fuck. I hated it. After all, I was a 24 year old otherwise healthy woman who’d just gotten married and loved her hair. I still love my hair, it just doesn’t love me. Shaving has always been my last resort because all I remembered was crying over a sink and watching the pittance of hair I had left fall from my head. It was hard for both of us and something I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
And here I was again.
“Yup, really. Shave it off.” I reply. It’s not doing me any good anyway. I’m over the wasted time. I’m over the stressing every morning. I’m over it owning me. It’s about time I own it. “Now. Do it now,”
Hubby obliges, pulling out his clippers and turning them on. Again, I stand with my head over a sink, watching the last of my hair stragglers fall past my eyes. They land in soft waves, strands and stands and….oh. There’s actually not very much at all.
I wait for the tears to come. For the overwhelming feeling of helplessness that flowed through me last time, for the raging hatred of Alopecia and what it takes from me, but they don’t appear. They don’t even make a mention.
Instead, I feel liberated.
I own this decision 100 percent and with that knowledge came a strength that I thought had disappeared when my hair eventually grew back. I felt a calm, strong, liberation from my Alopecia and with it the anxiety that came every morning. No longer do I have that stress, and only because I took charge and took the step that needed to be done.
My inner dialogue started up again, but instead of the worried angst ridden words that usually come to mind, it was a simple and resounding.
And you know what, for the first time since the patches started again, it’s right. It is better.