For the past few years I have been striving to lose weight to no avail. It turns out it was because of a rare problem with my blood sugar, but I digress. Now post-surgeries and medical drains I am thirty pounds lighter, unfortunately so is my head. I have lost so much hair that I turned to googling cures when my doctor said “hair regrowth for a major surgery like yours can take six months to start”. I never realized my hair was tied so directly into my self-esteem. I guess I should have seen that coming since the first few paragraphs of my book feature my alter-ego Rhiannon’s hair.
Rhiannon’s hair was flashes of chunky risque’ red-and-blonde, or it was a cast-off Rainbow-Brite red. Occasionally, it was a thick medium auburn with glints of Irish Setter red, or a blushing burgundy; at times it was even a violent violet or the color of pennies on fire. And sometimes she was a simple-strawberry-blonde. Her hair morphed as rapidly as her blue-green eyes. Flashing with intensity, it would draw the eyes of those around her even when she did not want to be seen. Part of her had always desired to shave it all off but she knew her face was not beautiful enough on its own.
I repeat to myself daily that I am lucky to be alive (because I know I am). I tell myself I have an amazing husband and a beautiful and smart little girl. I list all of the things I am grateful for and it does help. But I have this aching and gnawing in my stomach every time I brush my hair out and see eighty million strands drift down all over my bathroom sink. Which brings up the question, what part of you scares you the most when it changes? Is it your breasts sagging after breast-feeding or that fun little pouch post c-section? Is it losing your eyesight? Is it scarring on your face? How do you handle these changes? Do you handle them gracefully or do you leave claw marks on your past?