I will forever remember the moment I found my first bald spot. 

I was sitting at the family computer writing a history paper on a school night, and in typical stress mode, I ran my hand through my hair. That’s normal, everyone does it. What wasn’t normal was suddenly feeling a spot that was...smooth. Smooth as a baby’s bottom you might say.

I immediately ran downstairs freaking out, and collapsed in my mother’s lap in a puddle of tears. Was I dying? Was I sick? What was wrong with me? Why was this happening to me?

I don’t remember exactly what happened immediately after. I’m pretty sure my mom did some quick Googling, even though this was before we had smartphones or iPads or anything that didn’t need an ethernet cable. All I remember is her somehow calming me down, enough that I was able to finish my homework at least. While she may have been pretty sure what I had, we still made an appointment for a dermatologist. 

I was so nervous. I wanted to know what was wrong, but simultaneously was scared about the result. After inspecting the area, the doctor asked, “So, has there been a major change in your life recently? Is there something new that you’re doing that you haven’t done before” 

“Yeah, I just started public high school.” (I was home schooled for 6 years prior)

“Ah. Well, your body doesn’t like that.”

He went on to explain what alopecia areata is, how it manifests (high stress is my personal trigger), and when I could expect the hair to grow back. Because he was sure that it would. 

Cue a few months of me still being stressed over making sure the bald spot never showed, trying to mitigate my stress levels, and of course, adjust to a social life in public school. But sure enough, my hair grew back. That tiny bald spot the size of a nickel (though it felt 3 times bigger) disappeared...for a bit. 

I think I had a couple more spots in high school during junior and senior year of course - the most stressful years for a teenager. Again, those spots grew back. I rejoiced. I got a pixie cut. I went to college. I was clear for all 4 years...until senior year. 

I was 15 when that first spot showed up. I was 25 when the most recent and non-remitting cycle began, two and a half years ago. I wish I could say something funny about this disease, like how it’s an on-again-off-again relationship, but even those relationships aren’t funny…

Ending this entry is probably the hardest because my dance with the disease isn’t over yet. I can’t shake it, and I don’t know if I ever will.