It all started a little over two and a half years ago.
I was getting ready for work and just couldn’t do anything with my hair. There I was, staring at myself in the bathroom mirror with a defeated attitude. I had finally had it. I just didn’t have the strength in me to deal with it anymore. Here it was another morning, and again, I was struggling with what little hair I had left on my head. I started to cry.
Life gave me extremely fine-thin, hair inherited from my mother. So, throughout my whole life, I just learned to adapt. I didn’t really have any choice.
Now, because of aging and hormonal imbalances, my hair was thinner and more sparse. And, to top it all off (no pun intended), I had sustained head injuries from an automobile accident years earlier. This destroyed hair follicles leaving scars in its place.
So, here I was feeling sorry for myself. My husband heard my sobs of lament. He came to my side and said “Why don’t you get yourself a wig? My mom use to wear them. You know she has hair like you.” Truly, a thoughtful and meaningful gesture on his part. I contemplated what he had said, pulled myself together, and as best I could, fixed what little hair was on my head. I was ready to get on with my day.
For the first time, I felt hope. My new hair journey had begun.