Her hair was her armor that shielded her soul.
Her hair was her weapon so thick and so full.
Her hair was her cape that gave her super powers.
Her hair was her escape; she’d get lost in it for hours.
Her hair was a piece of her identity she never thought shed lose.
Her hair was her expression; she’d changed it to so many different hues.
She styled and dyed and curled and done it differently a thousand times over the years
She never imaged it’d begin to fall out & force her to face her fears.
Her hair was no longer her armor to shield her soul.
She was lost in darkness and felt like a fool.
Her locks no longer held her super power.
She was left in tears after every shower.
She felt so vain that her hair could effect her this way
So she decided to conquer it; come what may.
Wig after wig she tried to regain the feeling of confidence she had thought she had lost.
It didn’t matter the price; she would spend whatever it cost.
Slowly she came to terms with it all.
She wouldn’t let this stumble force her to fall.
A few snips and cuts and her long hair was there, laying on the ground.
For days her confidence was shattered and tears fell to the ground.
Then she looked in the mirror and decided to rock the style shed been forced to choose.
Her long hair was gone but her stubborn, wild, & kind personality was something she wasmt yet prepared to lose.
So she styled her hair and rocked her new do
Cause after all, your hair doesn’t make you; YOU.
-Desiree Angelica Young-
Okay, so it’s just hair, right? Why am I writing about it? Why am I focused on it? Why does it matter?
I’m losing mine. It’s falling out in clumps and thinning all over. Thanks, Lupus. For another side effect of one of my ever so joyous autoimmune diseases.
It started small with some thinning here and there. I could handle that. Then tons of breakage so I learned to style it a little different to hide the different lengths. Thennnnn the clumps. Washing my hair turned into an all out tear fest each and every time. I’d run my hands through and more and more hair would come out. . I was devastated.
Super vain, you’re thinking, I know. . . But my hair was such a part of my identity. Always has been. For as long as I can remember I was known for having good, thick, full hair. Growing up i had to have it thinned every time I got a hair cut. Short, long or in between it was full and I loved styling it and having it. . .
At one time I changed my hair color on a whim, at random moments, to match my mood. It was a significant part of what I thought defined me. But maybe, just maybe, I was wrong. . .
So now, I’m reclaiming what defines me. & my hair color, length and style will no longer be found on that list. If I feel like rocking one of the 10ish wigs I bought, you bet your ass; I WILL. But if I feel like my scalp needs a breath of fresh air and I want to show the world my short pixie cut well hellooo RockStar. 🤘
I know I’m still going to struggle. And if more hair continues to fall out I will surely cry and be angry but, in true Desiree fashion; this will not define me. 💁♀️