I’ve always been sensitive about my hair.
Growing up, my sister who is a year older than me had long, beautiful, thick hair. People admired and complimented her hair. My mother raved about it and often encouraged me to eat better foods or take more vitamins so my short, thin, soft hair would turn into something to be praised.
It never did. I spent my whole life trying to counter this narrative in my head. What am I doing wrong? What do I need to do differently to make my hair grow? Later, other adults, friends, family and coworkers would tell me to try different hair products, don’t use heat, or wrap it up at night and sleep on a silk pillowcase.
But my short hair persisted. It’s strong like that. I turned to different types of braids and sew ins, went natural, cutting it short to let it grow out to be long beautiful tresses. I eventually landed on wigs – you know – to give it a rest and let it grow.
My short hair denied me my glory. It declared unequivocally – I am here to stay. Of course, I didn’t learn until I was well into my 50s that my sister and I had completely different fathers. No one had ever considered genetics.
And then menopause happened. My husband asked if I was balding in the top of my head. No sir, I replied! My hair is healthy and happy. But he was right.
And then cancer happened. Good God Almighty. I just knew I was going to be one of those stories where the chemo made my hair grow. Because as one of my friends from Still Standing says, “I’m God’s favorite.” The truth is that I didn’t even realize my hair had been coming out (shedding) until I almost didn’t have any to put in a ponytail. My husband offered to cut it all off. I think he was just looking for a reason to use his clippers. But I denied him the chance.
Not to worry. I was (temporarily) cancer free and my doctor recommended Nutrafol and Minoxidil. I tried it, got back on my other hair vitamins, and after 6 months, I could definitely see the growth. But then I started chemo again and after 4 rounds, Lord, have mercy, the shedding. I’m back to square one.
My culture has always celebrated long beautiful hair, something to be aspired to. It’s something associated with beauty, femininity, glory, and pride. We’ve been taught to praise it, care for it, and even measure our beauty by it. I mean, are there any short-haired Disney princesses that saved the world?
So, hair has always meant something to me. I’ve hidden a part of myself because not having long hair in my culture has been something to be shunned.
But I’m taking the wig off and celebrating the fact that there is no standard of beauty. My hair is not my glory – I am! I am still a whole woman, still beautiful, still feminine, still fierce, still strong, still me.
I want you to see yourself as whole and complete, beautiful and powerful regardless of what is happening with your hair, your nails, your feet, your body, your voice, or any other part of you where you’re unlearning a negative story or a negative history.
Cancer, age, hormones, genetics – they all changed my hair. But none of those things changed me.
So yeah, I’m rocking a wig because I think I look pretty cute in one. And even though it’s pretty short, I still celebrate my hair and it will grow back.
But my hair no longer defines me. I am more than my hair.
And every person reading this should know that you are too.
