Over the weekend, I had the opportunity to do something that I haven’t done in over a year. Actually, one year, one month, almost to be exact… I got a haircut, with the purpose of styling it. I wasn’t really thinking about it, when we walked into the salon. I was busy talking with our hairdresser and trying to figure out what direction that I wanted to go with my hair (keep it short, try to grow out, etc.) that I wasn’t paying close attention to all that she was cutting. It was my toddler, who exclaimed “Oh no!”, when she looked under my chair and noticed all of the hair that had been cut off. (Don’t get me wrong, Shannon, my hairdresser did not do anything that I hadn’t asked for.) At first, I laughed at her exaggerated expression, but I was not prepared for the wave of emotions that swept over me, as I looked at all of the hair on the floor. The first thing that came to mind was that first time that I cut my hair, after I started to lose so much, so fast, after my first round of chemo. There were so many emotions that day, as well as so many to follow, until my hair eventually all fell out. The next thing that came to mind was a feeling of guilt or something similar. While I was totally bald or had the tiniest, flimsiest of baby hairs during and after chemo, I dreamt of the day that I would have hair again. To have so much cut off and to have my hair thinned out (because it was getting so bushy with the curls) felt almost sacrilegious. I sat for a moment, making small talk, looking at the pile of hair on the floor and feeling lost again. The only good thing about my hair coming back so thick and unruly after chemo (other than the obvious fact THAT IT WAS GROWING AGAIN )was that I had beautiful curls that I had never naturally had before. In my quest to get rid of the bulk that was causing my hair to look like Cosmo Kramer, I had also gotten rid of my beautiful curls.
I’m not unhappy with the haircut/style that she gave me. I looked in the mirror and down at the floor and back again several times. As I have had to try to figure out so many times over the past 14 months, I again am struggling to identify that woman looking back at my in the mirror. Most days, I feel like I have come so far and am able to recognize where I’m at and who I am. Other days, something that is seemingly as simple as a hair cut (that I’ve had a million times or close to it in my life, and that I have always been so excited to do) can leave me struggling to recognize myself. So many people have said “it’s just hair”,
“It’ll grow back” and other things like this. Maybe they’re right- I survived being completely bald (no lashes or brows either), and yes, my hair has grown back, thankfully. However, I think that anyone saying this also has probably not been in a similar situation and had to question what part of their identity that they equate with their hair. After all, most of the people saying things like this are probably not willing to buzz their hair/eyebrows/lashes off too. (Probably because they’d never want to look like a sick person, channel their inner Uncle Fester). So, now I will continue to try to learn how to “do my hair” with the new, shorter style that she gave me. I have a different texture, different color and some additional silver linings (gray hairs) that I didn’t have before, but that’s ok. I will work to tame it, and on the plus side, I’m no longer a dead ringer for Cosmo Kramer at the end of my day anymore.
My Silver Linings Playbook 