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"Beauty", and Why it's Hard to Have Alopecia
- Jennifer Costello
- Mar 6, 2024
- 7 min read
Hair is a really prominent symbol in our culture and in many cultures all over the world. For my age group of 35-40, I would say that healthy, luxurious hair is a priority. We spend money on supplements that will improve the look and quality of our hair and skin. We colour our hair. We spend money on cuts done by professionals with a trained, aesthetic eye. We buy accessories for our hair. We experiment with different products and tools to groom our hair, and we watch tutorials on doing fun things with it. Some of us spend a good amount of time on styling our hair. We feel fresh, beautiful and empowered after a visit to the hairstylist. We'll send photos of our new haircuts to friends and family, knowing we'll get lots of compliments on how beautiful we look. And, we are crushed by a "bad haircut."
We associate beautiful hair with femininity, softness, flow, youth, and grace.
And unfortunately - not all of us, but a lot of us - associate baldness with masculinity, hardness, maybe age, and manliness.
So, where does that leave bald women who desire to feel beautiful, feminine, graceful, soft and youthful?
Because hair is tied to beauty and empowerment in our culture, losing your hair OUT OF YOUR CONTROL can make you question your beauty. I'm not talking about choosing to shave your head, but physically losing your hair due to unwanted hair loss, out of your power. There's a huge difference.
When I lost my hair suddenly in December 2017, I felt utterly powerless. It was falling out so rapidly, I could hardly catch my breath. In about 6 weeks, I went from having long, luscious curly locks to having so many bald patches that I had to shave my head. Looking in the mirror, I could hardly recognize myself. My eyebrows were also sparse. Luckily, my eyelashes remained. I cried, and cried, and cried some more. I desperately searched the internet for solutions, having gotten none from my family doctor (who I deeply respect; she just didn't know how to help). I could not fathom what was happening, and it all felt so unfair.
I know this sounds dramatic, but it was truly a traumatizing experience. I also felt extremely alone; my then-boyfriend (now husband) was on military deployment out of the country when my hair loss started. The next time I saw him, months later, I was completely bald. That was a whole other terrifying experience. Would he still love me? Would he think I was ugly? Would he even want to touch me? Weeks of fearful thoughts built to the moment of our reunion, culminating in such a soulful moment of embrace and exhale. I immediately felt calm, grounded and reassured that this man is my Soulmate and he did in fact, still love me and find me beautiful. Somehow.
During the 7ish months that I was bald and regularly shaving my head, I chose to wear a headscarf rather than a wig. I had worn a wig for a musical that I performed in - Little Women - and it was itchy. I was actually pretty concerned about it getting caught on things and falling off, which would be utterly embarrassing to say the least, so I opted instead for the headscarves. What I didn't expect was that I would actually have some fun with headscarves, using them as an accessory. I wore scarves with the prettiest of patterns, and chose colours that complemented my skin tone - a pretty teal one, and a pink floral one were the ones I wore the most often. I learned to enjoy being bald, a little bit. It meant no wasted time styling hair, no "bad hair days", and no more obsessing over the hair loss. Just pop on a scarf and boom - I was ready for the day.
"You look great bald."
"At least you have a good head shape for it."
"You pull it off."
These were some of the comments I got regularly. And while these were coming from a place of kindness, a lot of these comments weren't very helpful nor did they really make me feel better. Yes, I did feel like I could "pull it off," but it still hadn't been my choice. And some of these comments didn't feel purely kind, but sometimes a bit of a discounting of the emotional turmoil I had been through. It's hard to explain.
Watching your hair fall out in clumps is extremely traumatizing. You don't know what's happening, you don't know when/if it will stop, and you feel, as I mentioned, powerless. I felt like my body was turning against me...which, ironically, it was.
Alopecia is an autoimmune condition. This means that the immune system attacks its own healthy cells, mistaking them for dangerous ones. Over the years, I've done a tonne of reflecting on how and why I developed an autoimmune condition. I've read and researched about the physical causes of autoimmunity, and I know I'm not alone in this - there are tons of autoimmune conditions out there.
But why, spiritually, did this happen to me? I am someone who likes to ask the question, "what's here for me? What is the spiritual lesson in this? How is this an opportunity for growth?"
I like to take alopecia and autoimmunity in general as a metaphor for my fears and limiting beliefs.
I have always struggled with the idea that I'm beautiful, every since I was a child. I've always been really, really insecure about the way I look. I hated my curly, frizzy hair for as long as I can remember, and in my 20s I would straighten the crap out of it daily. Even now, having most of it back, I struggle to appreciate it and to look in the mirror and truly feel beautiful without looking for flaws.
I think for me, alopecia is a spiritual lesson in what it means to be beautiful, and the reminder of what self love really means. It means accepting every part of yourself. Every flaw, every mistake you make, every.single.part of you - even the parts that you wish you could change. It's both a reminder to pay attention to yourself and your self care, and a surrender to something you can't 100% control. With autoimmunity, I believe the spiritual lesson comes in the form of a metaphor for the way I treat myself and continue to treat myself, despite everything I've been through, learned, and continue to work on. Autoimmunity for me is like a manifestation of my treatment of myself and the scarcity of love and compassion that I give to myself. It's a manifestation of moments of self hatred almost...but maybe that's a bit too far.
I think we also need to recognize that hair loss is not normal; it is a symptom of a greater issue. It is a health condition and a sign from the body that something needs some attention. We can work on nutrition and lifestyle factors, apply topical products, calm the immune system down, nurture our nervous systems, perhaps explore medications. Once we've done all of that, we can then accept where we're at. We can accept it, and then maybe even learn to love it. What gifts does this give me? What superpower does this give me? And - how can I feel beautiful not only despite my hair loss, but because of my hair loss? What makes me feel beautiful when I'm not feeling it so much? Is it headscarves? Makeup? Clothing? Could it be dancing, singing, making artwork or poetry? Is it maybe preparing a beautiful meal for my family, and caring for my children? This is individual of course, but I think we need to prioritize "feeling beautiful." We need to make a point of it, every day, especially when we're beating ourselves up about our physical appearance.
As children, we are taught a really simple, misleading lesson: it doesn't matter how you look on the outside, it's what's on the inside that counts. Of course, this is a nice sentiment, but it's not entirely true. Yes, how you act, how you treat people, your contributions to the world, your kindness - this all matters, hugely. But how you look on the outside does matter. It affects everything, especially how you feel about yourself. So why not instead of teaching this old way of thinking about beauty - which honestly just discounts and dismisses how we feel about ourselves sometimes - why don't we teach our children that yes, physical appearance is part of who you are. And you can observe it, work on it, accept it, learn to really love it if you can get that far. And we can ask the question, "what is it that makes you feel beautiful? Is it a certain style of clothing, hair, makeup? Is it feeling wild and free while dancing? Is it XYZ?" Let's have an honest discussion with our children and teens about this. If they are dealing with an insecurity, like maybe their skin breaking out, weight gain, or something else - can we work on these things with them, educating them about their health, empowering them to take their beauty into their own hands? Can we teach them that health and beauty are intricately linked? That being healthy in body, mind and soul, does translate to glowing exterior beauty? We can. And we can teach them that their feelings of insecurity are not shallow, but totally valid. We can be by their side to guide them through those vulnerable feelings, helping them to love their own beauty without discounting their feelings.
I dream one day of looking in the mirror and truly seeing beauty before flaws. After all of this time, at age 36, I am still struggling with this - some days are easier than others, but it's something I've been inside of a lot. I'm currently 8 months postpartum and am going through a huge flare of hair loss. I've got bald spots all over my head, my eyebrows are sparse once again, my skin is no longer glowing, and I've got a c-section scar I'm trying to will to fade. It's really, really hard some days to choose to feel beautiful. And I want to teach my daughter about this meaning of self love, self compassion, and self kindness. I want her to see me looking at myself with admiration and love, and adoring the reflection I see looking back. Because that's obviously what I want for her. Maybe that's why I was gifted a daughter?
The more I work on eating well, drinking water, getting some sleep, while also putting on a bit of makeup, washing my hair, etc. - the better I do feel about myself. I don't presume to feel beautiful on the days where I am really, really tired and haggard. I think it's a ridiculous idea that anyone would, and we need to stop using the phrase "it doesn't matter" in reference to our physical appearance.
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