Recently I ran into an acquaintance I hadn’t seen in a few years. He looked so perplexed when I enthusiastically greeted him. After I reintroduced myself, he noted my hair was different. We talked for a few minutes and parted. A few days later I saw him again, this time in a there were a few others present. He told the group that we’d met years ago but recently he hadn’t recognized me because I’d “changed” my hair.
Somehow this statement tickled my sense of humor. The story is so much more than different hair.
“Actually,” I quipped, “I think my hair changed me.”
Prior to chemo I had lovely long hair. I spent the money to enhance the color. I loved my hair, and I wore it like a shield. You can hide behind your hair.
A week into chemotherapy I noticed my hair beginning to fall out. By the end of week two, each time I ran my hands through it they came away full of long strands. I stood over the sink doing this over and over,
simultaneously fascinated and horrified. It amazed me how much hair we actually have; the sink was full of fluffy hair, yet I couldn’t see bald spots. I decided it was time to act. I reached out to my dear friend and stylist, and we set a time to meet at her salon. I sat in the chair I’ve sat in so many times over the years and steeled myself for what would happen next. “Are you ready?” she asked. I nodded. She gathered my hair into a ponytail. “Do you want to donate your hair?”
This last question lifted my spirits, even more so when she told me that it would go to a charity that makes wigs for children. My traumatic moment became a gift.
With that she cut off my ponytail. She asked if I wanted her to turn me away from the mirror. I chose to
watch my transformation. We were both tearful as she grabbed my hands, looked into my eyes and then picked up the clippers. Within minutes, the rest of my hair lay on the salon floor.
I’d brought a soft cap and scarf with me which she helped me put on. A big hug and I stepped back out onto the sidewalk.
How do you feel when suddenly you are bald? I’d wondered about this a lot in anticipation of this day. I’d
expected to feel excruciatingly self-conscious and exposed. Would the whole world stare?
I’d expected to feel awkward and ugly. To my great surprise, nothing changed. I still felt the same, I was still
me. Except… I felt empowered, free.
There was something liberating about this experience. Soon after my head was shaved, my eye brows and
lashes fell out too. I was stripped down to my essence. The true self revealed.
I don’t want to minimize the impact of cancer and treatment. It is an exhausting, life altering ordeal. Recovery is very long, the fatigue and side effects cling long after treatment is over. I chose though to try and have a little fun. I poured my creativity into making hats and scarves to match the seasons. I even crocheted a cowboy hat!
Losing my hair changed how I viewed myself. It opened my eyes to the intense marketing that exploits our insecurities and convinces many of us to spend countless hours and dollars creating a persona to present to the world in the place of our true selves.
I am braver since I went through cancer, a little more willing to step out, a little less worried about image, or what others might think. Maybe I’m a more authentically me.
I’ve always loved Jesus words to his disciples in Matthew 6:28-30
“And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you?”
I now apply these words to my thoughts on hair too. Through my journey, I came to understand that whether bald or with a head full of hair, I am beloved child of the King, beautiful in his eyes, tenderly cared for.
Every summer my husband and I spend most weekends camping in a wonderful lakefront park not far from our home. We gather with treasured friends, sharing laughter and community meals. Sunday brunch is always the highlight of the weekend.
A few years ago my sweet 9 year old friend noticed that we had similar hair colors. “Miss Sandra, you have red hair like me.” “Yes,” I said, “But I pay to have it this color.” He looked so confused as I explained how I
went to the hair salon to have the color changed. I will never forget what he said next: “But why would you do that? You are perfect just the way God made you.”
You are too.
