We all know what comes next. The daily terror of finding more patches. Being anxious about patches growing larger. Fear over patches showing when the wind blows your hair just the right way. Loss of control as you can no longer keep the hairstyle you love. I had finally accepted Alopecia as a part of my life. Not in a way that defined me, not in surrender. But in self-preservation.

We all know what comes next. The daily terror of finding more patches. Being anxious about patches growing larger. Fear over patches showing when the wind blows your hair just the right way. Loss of control as you can no longer keep the hairstyle you love. I had finally accepted Alopecia as a part of my life. Not in a way that defined me, not in surrender. But in self-preservation.

For those with Alopecia, it is a daily challenge to look in the mirror and accept that how we look, and therefore who we are, will change abruptly and without our consent. At some point, the disease becomes less about losing the hair itself, and instead about losing our identity.

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…

I had been silent about my alopecia for so long, since it came and went erratically, that when I finally took the plunge and shaved my head for the world to see, I suddenly had to get very good at answering the question “What’s wrong with you?” diplomatically.