When I shaved my head, I felt alive. I felt power. I felt free.

The process of losing my hair was the hardest part. I felt alone, ugly, hopeless. I would look online, and I would only find techniques to hide my spots, cover my bald and attempt regrowth. I would go into the store and see books on how to look beautiful bald that only offered wigs as an option. I would wonder if:

• Nate found me attractive,
• Anyone could find me attractive,
• My children one day would be the kids with the “bald mom” and get made fun of for it,
• People would treat me differently in personal and professional relationships,
• And a whole lot more about society and stranger reaction in general, but we will break all of these down later on.

Shame is a powerful feeling, and it seemed to suffocate the language and imagery associated with alopecia universalis.

The most powerful feeling I had, however, was guilt. I felt guilty for caring so much, for crying so much, for thinking that this was hard. Whenever a negative thought came in my mind — when I’d see my hairline in the reflection of the mirror after a shower or explain to a friend that I may ruin their upcoming event because I’d be bald — I would quickly dismiss the feelings because my problems were cosmetic, not connected to institutional oppression or serious illness.

I was privileged. I may have been losing my hair, but it wasn’t because I was going through chemotherapy. People would ask to touch my head, but they hadn’t been asking my whole life because of the color of my skin/texture of my hair. I lost my hair, but I made it through middle school with a full head of hair. Perspective is important, and it carried me in many ways, but I also had to learn to allow myself to feel my own emotions and hurt.

Through this process, I had to figure out what kind of bald person I would be. Eventually, I sat myself down and reflected on the question: Who are you making your decisions for?

When you really consider that question and reflect on it, your perspective shifts. It ended up being quite simple when I applied it to my alopecia.

From the beginning, I knew I didn’t want a wig. During my mother’s 13 years in and out of chemotherapy, she always made it quite clear that wigs were hot and itchy. I did not want to be unnecessarily hot and itchy. I was weary of head wraps and appropriating a culture that is not mine. I realized that the standard of beauty associated with hair was created by someone else.

In general, I realized that if I were to cover my head and attempt to fit society’s idea of femininity, I would be doing it to make someone else comfortable. Not me. While these options give other women power and strength (you do you!!!), they would continue the cycle of shame for me.

I just wanted to be bald.

P.S. The title quote and a lot of these sentiments can be found in the SELF article I was featured in written by Sarah Jacoby.