There’s a kind of grief no one really talks about.
It’s not loud. It doesn’t demand casseroles or sympathy cards.
It’s quiet, chronic—and every time I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror, it stares back at me.
I’ve lived with hair loss for about a decade. That’s ten years of trying every oil, pill, foam, and prayer. Ten years of rotating hats. Ten years of scanning my shower drain like it was a crime scene.
I’ve been hopeful, desperate, angry, numb. Some days I try to fight it. Some days I try to accept it. Most days? I’m somewhere in between.
The Shame They Don’t Show in Ads
What no product bottle tells you is how personal this journey is. Hair is more than hair. It’s identity, youth, femininity or masculinity, normalcy. When it starts falling out, it’s not just strands—it’s confidence, comfort, the feeling of being “okay.”
You learn to hide.
You dodge pool parties.
You pretend dry shampoo is “just your thing.”
You flinch at photos.
You turn off the bathroom light when you brush your hair.
People don’t always understand. “It’s just hair.” But it’s not just anything when it’s part of you that feels like it’s vanishing.
The Things I’ve Tried (That Didn’t Always Work)
Minoxidil? Yep.
Biotin? Sure.
Derma rolling? Absolutely.
Changing shampoos like I change Spotify playlists? You bet.
Therapy? Even that.
And still, the loss kept happening. Slowly. In waves. Just enough to keep hope alive and anxiety even more alive.
Where I Am Now (And What Actually Helped)
I wish I could say I found the solution, but I haven’t.
Instead, I’ve found tiny anchors. They don’t stop the shedding, but they’ve started to slow the spiral:
-
Community. Reddit threads. Forums. People like you, who post in the middle of the night saying, “Does anyone else feel this way?” That’s where I realized I’m not broken. I’m not alone. I’m just human.
-
Therapy—but the right kind. Finding a therapist who understood body image, chronic issues, and self-worth changed everything. We didn’t fix my hair. We started untangling my shame.
-
Shifting the question. Instead of asking, “How do I fix myself?”, I started asking, “How do I care for myself as I am?”
-
Permission to grieve. I let myself cry about it. That one was surprisingly powerful. Crying felt like defeat before. Now it feels like a release.
-
Curating my feed. Seriously, unfollow those influencers with thick, glossy hair unless they also talk about their struggles. Find people who show up real. That’s the hair content I needed.
A Note to Anyone Reading This in a Dark Moment
If you’re here hoping for a miracle cure, I can’t offer one.
But I can offer this: You are not alone.
You are not dramatic.
You are not vain.
And you are not weak for caring.
We all want to feel comfortable in our skin. We all want to look in the mirror and not flinch.
That’s okay.
And if today, all you needed was someone to say, “Hey, I see you. I’ve felt it too,”—then take this as your virtual head pat. No judgment. No fake positivity. Just a quiet nod from someone in the same boat.
We’re still here. Still trying. Still worthy.
No comments:
Post a Comment