I Lost My Hair, Not Myself

Photos: Aigerim Ostapenko

My first photoshoot two days after I shaved off my hair, feeling shy

One crisp autumn morning when I was 14 years old, combing my hair to get ready for school, my mum found a big bald spot on top of my head.

I had never seen anything like this. I knew that some guys could lose their hair and aging grandmas but 14-year-old girls? Never.

The bald spot started to grow bigger every week just like my fear of losing all of my hair. At some point, I had lost hair also from the back of my head but luckily was still able to cover it. After visiting a doctor, the diagnosis was alopecia and I had to use topical creams full of nasty stuff and often go to school with greasy hair.

Months later my hair grew back but the experience left me with a deep fear that one day I might lose all my hair.

I loved my long hair and found it heart-wrenching to even cut my dead ends. Long shiny hair = beauty, strength, vitality, femininity.

As I turned 30, the nightmare from the past had returned again. The bald spot on my scalp. This time I welcomed it with calmness. I’ve seen you before. You come and go and just want to scare me a little but I always win.

I wasn’t worried at all, it would grow back, I told myself.

Two years later and I had lost 70% of my hair.

It’s just hair you might think.

You are right, it’s just hair until you lose it.

It’s also our societal norms what we consider to be beautiful. It’s that feeling that your power has been taken away from you. It’s not about choosing to shave your hair off as a dedication to your spiritual path or praising the alternative look. It’s not about having thinning hair, it’s about not having hair at all, not having a choice.

About three months before I said bye to my hair, the reality hit me. The whole time I had been in denial about my situation, hoping that it will just go away. Anxiety started to creep in. I fell into a depressive state and didn’t find joy in anything.

I felt like I can’t operate properly, it felt like my whole life was on standby.

For some of you it might sound ridiculous to be so worried about hair loss because there are people who lose their hair to cancer but it’s also one of the reasons why alopecia hits people so hard, there’s a feeling like you don’t have the right to grieve it because, well, it’s just hair, so you suppress the pain and put on a brave face.

Once I stopped telling myself that it’s just hair and I shouldn’t worry about such trivial things, the true healing started to happen.

I never imagined that the whole process could be so painful. Previously when I entertained the scary thought of losing my hair, it felt like a little hiccup, not something that would cause me such pain and sadness.

Losing your hair feels like losing yourself or to be more precise, the person you thought you were. It’s like the death of ego, pushing you on your knees, telling you to surrender, the feeling of being out of control.

Once I allowed the grief to come, it felt liberating, heart-shattering, confusing and beautiful at the same time.

How long will I stay here in this extremely vulnerable place, I found myself wondering.

As long as you need to.

Having 30% hair left, I couldn’t go out without wearing a scarf or hat to cover up my weird patchy baldness. There was no point to go on like this any longer to see how the last bits of my hair will fall out. Every time I had a shower and saw the amount of hair on the floor, it broke my heart.

I decided to shave it all off.

As soon as I made the decision to shave off the last remaining bits of my hair and not watch in despair how they all leave me, I knew that I will first have to get used to my bald head and not rush to buy a wig.

I had read countless stories of women who for years were hiding their baldness under the wig and not even told anyone what’s going on and once they let that go, they felt free.

Everyone’s story is different. I just knew that I can’t do this to myself. I can’t hide and prolong the pain that comes with this new reality. I decided that first I need to accept the new me (at least for now) and a wig would just be an accessory that I might choose to buy once I feel absolutely great with my new haircut, I mean no-hair-cut.

A week leading up to the “day of shaving” was filled with anxiety and nightmares. Would I ever feel normal again, will I ever feel confident?

It was a beautiful day with my partner and friend who shaved it off, we laughed and took funny photos. My partner shaved off his hair too to show his support.

I felt surprisingly liberated. Something I was so afraid of happening my whole life had now happened. A small part of me deep down had always wanted to do it. To break out of societal norms but had been scared and influenced by the beauty standards.

Once my hair was gone, a completely new world opened up to me. I had no idea before how many people are wearing hair extensions, hair toppers (have you ever heard of it?), wigs. It all made me wonder why do we really do that when we actually have our own hair.

I was so afraid that once I am bald I’ll lose my confidence but in reality, I found true confidence. Confidence that is so deeply part of me and can’t be shattered by external circumstances.

When I see my own reflection, I want to scream who is this but I also give myself a wink and see the beauty that goes way deeper than my long shiny hair (that I still hope to have back one day, no matter the length). I also see a woman who once committed to loving herself beyond anything and didn’t back up even when she lost something that ultimately symbolised beauty and vitality to herself.

Bald can be beautiful, just like everything else we women obsess so much about, cellulite, tummy rolls, freckles, b