Alopecia has been a part of me for over half my life now. She made her first appearance when I was 5 years old - a small patch at the nape of my neck which never really went away. I didn’t think much of it because, well, I was 5 and all I cared about was running around outside! 10-years on and a few more patches appeared and I can vividly remember my mum helping me hide them after I’d been swimming in the sea. That year I experienced significant hair loss and, as a 14 year old girl, I understandably spiralled into fairly self-destructive habits concerning my appearance. I was attending weekly hospital appointments to have numerous steroid injections in my head in the hope that this would end and I wouldn’t have to worry about hair loss any more.

I didn’t fully understand the condition and I viewed Alopecia as an illness, something that would be cured and I’d never have to think about it again. And this was the case for a few years until one weekend, at 18, I lost so much hair I couldn’t hide it any more. My eyebrows, eyelashes and crowning glory were gone and I felt worthless and ugly. I have always done a lot of sport, and I’m deeply competitive. I had a bad experience at school where I was called a man simply for doing sport and being dedicated to my training…kind of bizarre really, but it had a huge impact on me throughout my hair loss. I always took a low maintenance approach to my appearance, hair wet from swimming or post-run shower, but my hair was my safety and what, at the time, I felt was what made me “feminine”. 

The first time I saw myself completely bald, I cried. Sobbed even. But it wasn’t because I thought I looked “ugly” but because I felt so conflicted. I liked how I looked without hair - for the first time in forever, I really liked what I saw in the mirror. But that voice in my head (which pretty much every woman has, hair or no hair) continuously picked fault. “Everyone’s going to stare at you,” “you look weird, too different…too manly”… And this voice screamed at me for so many years until one day, 5 years after losing all my hair, I just had enough.

I thought I needed everything to be “perfect” before I allowed myself to go hair free. I needed flawless skin, to be slim, super lean and only that way my lack of hair wouldn’t matter. The obsession with perfection was exhausting and overwhelming. If I didn’t want to put on my hair, I couldn’t leave the house, which made me more anxious and miserable because I missed out on so many things! One summer, it was too hot and, quite frankly, too much admin to keep up with my own expectations, so I let go of my hair and embraced my hair free, carefree self. 

I lied to myself for a long time, pushing the message that “it’s just hair, it could be so much worse” which is partly true but Alopecia is so much more than that. Feminine identity is often associated with hair and losing it IS a big deal. And it’s okay to say this.

Alopecia first entered as an unwelcome guest in my life - an unwanted squatter occupying space in my head and permeating into everyday tasks. I haven’t had hair for over 10-years now, I can’t remember what having my own hair growing from my head even feels like any more and I’d be lying if I said that doesn’t make me feel sad some days, that I don’t miss it. That’s normal but I’m so happy it doesn’t consume me every day any more.

As with any form of grief, acceptance doesn’t come easily. However, I now see my Alopecia as a superpower. We’re part of a club of incredibly resilient, beautiful individuals, and I will wave my weave above my head in solidarity, proudly baring my head to let anyone who’s experiencing any form of hair loss know they’re not alone.

Alopecia is now my friend and I love her so much.