How shaving my hair saved my life

If you had asked me 5 years ago if I would shave (Or have had the confidence to shave) my hair I would have immediately answered with the biggest and permanent no. No forethought to the response, just a plain bold, no. ?Shaving the little hair that I had left was a death trap, or so I thought. I had embodied a sense of security, knowing that a full (or almost full) head of hair was the equivalent of a confident life, a happy life, or maybe even a fulfilled one. I had the certainty that those fortunate individuals lucky enough to have inherited a full head of hair had a calmer, or possibly a more confident life. ?Little did I know that having hair (and losing it at the same time) was the death trap that I had always escaped from, a figurative prison sentence that stopped me from living my life in every authentic way possible. We all have security blankets that cover up the insecurities in our lives. Mine was my hair and the loss of it was indescribably painful.??

I had been seeing a life coach for years who for the sake of a better word ‘saved my life’ and told me metaphorically during one enlightening session that I would have to deal with upcoming deaths in my life. Death is a big word, with a connotation usually resembling doom and gloom, but in fact, there can be true meaning in the dark recesses of this cynically powerful slogan. Death can be a rebirth of sorts and doesn’t have to be the finality of your existence. I couldn’t quite figure out what my life coach and mentor had meant, but months later I discovered the meaning behind her symbolic imparting. Having done a great deal of soul-searching, I knew immediately what one of the so-called ‘deaths’ she was referring to. It was undeniably the death of my hair. Can your hair die? And should you let it die with grace? Should you be mourning the loss of those shiny strands whose richness once contributed to that full head of perfection? These were the questions that were circulating ferociously in my troubled mind. I was shifting. There was no discussion on whether I was ready for the shift. I just knew inherently that I had to embrace it full-on.

I discovered that I had been in the mourning phase of my hair loss for probably 5-plus years. I had no suspicion of what the mourning of the loss of my hair was doing to my health and my body. The effects, if left unattended could have been catastrophic. ?I read article after article about the psychological impact of hair loss and how it not only affects your mental health but contributes to your anxiety levels, insurmountable stress, skin issues, sleep deprivation, the list goes on. The more articles I read, I forgot about my own burgeoning journey with hair loss that I started reading and dissecting everyone else’s. Social media and Instagram were probably my worst nightmare. I witnessed the poised and perfected models and influencers whose hair resembled beauty, grace, freedom, and most visibly, confidence. Most of these images were probably airbrushed, skin touched up, bodies contoured to perfection and their hair, ah their hair, a glossy mass full of hope and power. This was essentially what I was fed to believe. I felt like the innocent baby cradled with longing eyes in my mother's worrisome grasp (Security blanket firmly fastened) waiting for an answer, a resolution to life’s problems. I wasn’t going to get an answer not then and not now. My issue was self-inflicted, and I had to fix it.

Truth be told my so-called security/beauty blanket together with my confidence issues had evolved many years prior to the loss of my hair however, the realization of my receding hairline (evident in photographs and mirror gazing) and the many strands of hair that took their much-needed departure from my already fragile scalp was, in essence, my lightbulb moment. The death of my hair exacerbated the many changes that were transpiring in my life. With morning and evening shower time and another 20 strands lost forever to the sewer graves, I had to act quickly and resolve this dreadful mess I saw myself in.

Does hair hold the key to one’s confidence? Up until now I honestly thought it did. I moved countries over 2 years ago and started my life from scratch. I arrived wilfully in London (2 suitcases to my name) with no job, no permanent place to stay, no friends, and no life in this relatively unknown territory. I swapped my repetitive and somewhat na?ve existence for the very different London way of life. Whatever obstacles, triumphs, and tribulations London held for me, I planned on embracing them head-on (hopefully with a full head of hair intact). I had visited family over the years and fell in love with London, the culture, the history, the theatre and the indescribable buzz of the city.? I knew my life was about to change for good, but I had zero notion of what was in store. When one leaves one’s home and breathes life into a new and somewhat unknown existence, one slowly begins to change. You shift. Everything about your current reality shifts, and at times the shifting process can be cataclysmic.

During the shifting process you carry on with your life. I found a job, made new friends, explored London’s vibrant (and at times toxic) dating scene while rediscovering who I really am, or most importantly who I was becoming. ?On this path of rediscovery, my hair was the main factor that continually contributed to my lack of confidence and moving forward. I blamed my hair loss on the stress of emigration, the upheaval and displacement of one’s current reality for the unknown to be replaced with the new. But I knew inherently that my hair loss was just a thing that happens to the best of us. Genetics or maybe just life? ?????

Along my ‘lack of hair journey’ questions arose. Who am I? Who have I become? I asked these questions countless times, especially in front of the mirror, never receiving an answer or an absolution. I looked at my reflection with all the strands of hair that I had placed perfectly to disguise the balding patches, the white bits of skin that had never seen the sunlight. I looked so sad, so defeated. All this because of hair loss? Who was going to love me with no hair? I wasn’t receiving those exciting Tinder matches we all hope or long for. I had liked over 300 faces and not a single match. Would the collection of matches start when I stopped hiding behind those strands of hair, behind the lies, behind my insecurities? Would people think differently of me with a clean-shaven head? I berated myself and said how stupid I was. However, underneath all the scalding criticism, I was lying to myself and lying to others who wanted to get close to me. When I realized that hair loss was affecting my dating life or general existence, I knew I had to conquer this crippling loss with vigour. I had never allowed anybody to touch my hair, swim in the ocean and stand out in the rain. Leaving the house without spraying huge amounts of hairspray was a non-negotiable, it was my daily, boring ritual. The amount of money I had spent on sprays, hair pastes, and restoring shampoos and conditioners, I could have funded a trip for 2 to Tuscany. I saw my life before my eyes at this point and knew I had to conclude this chapter of utter discontent.

I had researched hair clinics. In fact, I became obsessed with hair transplants, their benefits, the pros, the cons, the surgery, and the after-effects. Could I ever afford this? And did I really want to splash out thousands of pounds I didn’t have for a potential full head of hair? There was no guarantee that this would work. Prior to my hair transplant exploration, I had tried hair growth tablets, high-strengthing biotin, collagen, minoxidil, laser hair therapy clinics, hair thickening shampoos and every other pill that could contribute to the reemergence of my hair into the world. I wanted to make a statement, a bold comeback. To my disappointment there was no comeback, no catwalk exposing the ‘me’ I thought I wanted to be. Nothing worked.

After research on hair transplants in Turkey and a consultation with a visiting Turkish doctor which I later decided against, I opted to explore one of the numerous and reputable London hair loss clinics and had my first consultation with a very persuasive consultant and hair loss representative. He worked his convincing magic on me for over an hour and told me how wonderful?I was and how this was the first step to changing my life. Could a new head of hair really change my life? Was this the answer to all my underlying issues? There were undeniably underlying issues that I understood and acknowledged however, I came to the conclusion that no hair transplant could fix. Quite honestly, I didn’t even know how I was going to feel when I had hair again. Was this going to eliminate my confidence grievances??Was having hair the final draw card in life’s poker game?

After the consultation, it was full steam ahead. I paid a non-refundable deposit of ￡1000, savings accumulated over a year. I was planning a trip or 2 away but decided I needed to invest in myself by investing in my hair. I was shifting in a new direction, or was I? The consultant had words to say. He knew how to persuade someone who was an emotional wreck and how to sweet-talk into signing up for a new head of hair. That was his job. He was selling a lifestyle. He was unbelievably convincing, a true salesman. He wanted his commission, and I wanted my confidence back. Something inside me told me to do it. I couldn’t control the urge. Hair consultants have an easy job, and generally, people seek these services when they are at their lowest so it’s easy to make the deal and lure you in. There was no fault of the establishment nor of the consultant promoting their services. Was I to blame for thinking that having hair would fix me?

My transplant was booked in and I had already taken a week’s leave from work. I was so committed to the cause. Then something happened. I backed out. I knew it wasn’t right. I saw myself with hair and a new hairline and I was the same self-doubting and insecure person. I saw myself dying on the operating table, maybe not a physical death but a death of my power, my strength that I was yet to discover. My authenticity had evaporated at this point. When does one stop trying to perfect their image? I messaged the sales consultant who wasn’t impressed. He talked me out of my anxieties about the procedure. He called me and then messaged me and then called me again wanting to know why I was backing out and how I was making a big mistake. He wasn’t going to let me go lightly but after a few days he knew that his coaxing abilities were falling on deaf ears. My final message to him was a firm no. He gave me some nonsensical answer. No ‘sorry’ to see you go, no words of encouragement, nothing. ??

My wonderful barber who had been so endearing to my insecurities over the past 2 years guided me through the process and finally had the chance to shave off what little hair I had left. He told me how desperate he was to do something with my hair for the past 2 years but my rigidity to any change couldn’t triumph an already touchy situation. When the strands of hair hit the floor, I didn’t cry as I thought I would, I rejoiced at how liberating it felt. I wasn’t sure who the person looking back at me in the mirror was, but I knew I would have much fun and excitement finding out more. I haven’t paid my barber a visit for quite some time. I bought a fancy head shaver and realized more money was being saved on my bi-weekly trips to fade my sides and perfect the comb-over I had on top. I miss him. He was the only person who was allowed to touch my hair. I’ll visit him soon, now in different spirits and with a different renewed mindset. A confident one. A completely shifted one. ???

I had a make-believe funeral for all the strands of hair that will forever be lost but not forgotten. I named them in fact and thanked them individually for their purpose. They held on. They were good to me. I said goodbye and held a vigil. I also said goodbye to the ￡1000 I used on the deposit which I thought would contribute to my renewed power and legitimacy. In hindsight, the deposit was money well spent. I will make the money back. I had to go through this process to have my lightbulb moment. It saved me from probably doing one of the worst things I could have potentially done to myself. Having a hair transplant wasn’t going to fix me.

We often hang on to things that we think are good for us. Bad friendships, relationships, dead-end jobs, the same style in fashion we wear year after year and of course our hair. I had read countless hair growth success stories where people sought the help of doctors and hair transplant clinics to correct the aging signs of genetics and vanity. The before and after pictures are always truly inspiring. A renewed life. A new head of hair. And yes, these stories are commendable, they highlight how immense pain can turn into great power. One’s process is purely individual and sacred and should never be tampered with. We do what we feel is right and whether a hair transplant corrects the pain you have about your hair or lack of hair is purely your unique journey and must be valued and respected.

My journey was a different success story, however this time in reverse which you rarely hear about. Can shaving one's hair give you a renewed sense of being? My success was in mourning, learning and discovering a fresh new look. The success of finding true meaning in accepting what feels right for you. For the first time in my life, I like what I see. ?There is still a ton of work to be done and improvements to be made on my journey to rediscover and reestablish the years of confidence lost, but that’s part of the shifting process. That is part of life's process. It happens to the best of us at the right time and for all the right reasons. My comeback was not having a full head of hair. It was embracing and working on my insecurities and finding a way to navigate a new look. It was finding my confidence without the confines and security blanket of hair and how to direct this new existence.

Occasionally when feeling nostalgic, I touch my shaved head trying unsuccessfully to find the remnants of a not-so-distant past life filled with inauthenticity. I now understand that phantom feeling of a missing limb, something that has been apart of your life for so long but now dearly departed, leaving you with a sense of longing, however in my case, relief.?

I took a solo trip to Spain last month and swam in the sea for the first time in probably 10 years. I felt the warm sun on my head and the salty ocean water imbuing a sense of calm in my body. I was ‘naked’ for the first time in my life and quite frankly, I liked it. I stood in the rain a few weeks back not worrying about my hair or if I needed more hairspray for a quick touch-up. I looked up to the sky and embraced every droplet.

#hairloss #mentalhealth #awareness #success #health #worldmentalhealthday