The Haircut – Pieces of Me

So I’ve had long hair my whole life. It flowed down to my waist. I enjoyed doing different hairstyles including a huge variety of braids and updos. It has been something that has always been a part of me. However, over the past year and a half, I’ve struggled to do any of the fun hairstyles. Most days it just ended up in a messy bun. The effort to style it was not a priority when I only had so much energy to begin with. In addition to this, my scalp had been radiating pain when I took my hair down and would hurt up to two days after wearing a messy bun. But despite all this I held onto my locks.

Then it started about a month ago, the dreaded losing of hair. Not a few strands, but handfuls of long blonde hair. I’ve had periods of hair loss before due to fluctuations in vitamin levels or medications. But nothing has compared to this. So Thursday I went in for my usual hair appointment and after speaking with my hair stylist it became evident that a change was needed. All the logical reasons pointed to cutting my hair shorter. It will be easier to care for, easier on my scalp, easier to style, less dramatic when falling out, so I made the decision and gave the go ahead.

6 inches of hair lay around the bottom of the stylist’s chair when she finished cutting it. And the tears began to flow. I tried to hold them back and think of all the reasons why my decision was for the best. After the cut, she dried my hair and curled it, swung me around for the final show. It was pretty, and by most people’s standards still long, but my heart felt broken. My tears were for more than the wistful pieces of hair lying about on the floor, they were for ALL the pieces of me this illness keeps stealing.

Yet, I wiped my cheeks, and put on my smile, like many times before. Because I know there are some things I’ll never allow this illness to take.