Bald and Free: My story of being Miss Representation

I have something important I want to share. It is something about myself that only my family and a few of my close friends know. Even now, I feel a little bit of hesitation in deciding to post it openly. It is a fact that has caused me a lot of internal shame, and has affected my self image in ways that has made me feel abnormal, antisocial, and at times, really ugly. I have Trichotillomania. I even hate to write that word sometimes, because having a condition with the suffix "mania" can make me feel a little crazy.

I share this because I honestly feel that in life you have to give something to get something. In order to internalize the struggles of others and understand them, I need to share my own. I can only expect the trust and intimacy that comes with truly learning who others are by trusting them as well. I need to open that possibility through my willingness to be vulnerable. I believe that there is more power that comes through suffering than I know, and I want to learn how to harness it. There is no value, for me, in perpetually looking beyond the negative, and looking at the lighter side of life. I'm sure that this view is more important than I realize as well, but not at the expense of rejecting and ignoring the purpose of pain. That purpose should be explored. I'm sure there's some Buddist wisdom that would explain this idea better, but I have yet to learn it.

The hardest part of my Trich is that it has driven me to hiding. At first, it was my mother's shame that motivated me to hide my head. She bought a wig for me to wear in middle school. In high school I refused to wear it, and at her bidding, I shaved my head. It wasn't until college that I really started letting my hair grow out, but perhaps that was just a result of the fact that I never wanted to go to a hair salon. I never wanted to go swimming either, or be outside while it was windy or raining. I didn't even want to physically get too close to anyone that didn't already know what was "wrong." I couldn't put my head on someone's shoulder, or let someone brush or stroke my hair. Obviously, this sort of mental restriction held me back from getting close to guys and dating. I've been described as stand-offish before. There was even a time when I was afraid to be a part of baptisms for the dead at the temple, for fear that it would expose my secret, and lead to questions and negative views about me. I'm pretty ashamed for letting it get to me in that way.

I was pretty good at hiding my bald spots most of the time. A comb-over isn't just for balding guys, it is a vital practice for most Trichsters. I have a shoe box full of barrettes, bandannas, and head bands. I've even used hair powders and scalp creams to hide my spots. Last spring, my pulling was getting so bad that the hair powder no longer could conceal the damage, and I began wearing bandannas everyday, even if I was alone in my apartment, and many times even to bed.

There were many times when I wanted to get away from that shame, and that harmful desire to hide. I kept commenting to my husband, "I should just shave my head." And he'd answer, "If you want, I'll do it for you." It was always kind of a half joke. One day, this past November, I said, "Okay John, I want you to shave my head tonight." It was actually a bizzare bonding experience, and I felt good about it most of the time my hair was falling down around me. I do remember shedding a tear or two, though. This time, shaving my head was not about hiding like it was when I was younger. It was about openly being willing to show my ugliness, and my realness to everyone, and it was about the desire for a new beginning.

I knew that shaving my head would nessisitate telling others about my condition. A girl can't just shave her head without questions, and this time I wasn't going to lie. That's largely what made it so difficult. But, I felt it was the right thing to do. I sent an email telling all of my in-laws about it, and got some very supportive responses. However, it just so happened that the next time I would see them all, it was Thanksgiving. So, practically all of them were there to see my "new look." I had a reaction I would never have anticipated. Shortly after I saw them all for the first time with my shaved head, I broke down crying, and crying, and crying. I couldn't stop. I actually had such a hard time dealing with my emotions, that I decided I would feel better going home. My husband, amazing in his support, came with me, despite not being able to see his family for very long for the holiday.

I'm not sure how to reflect back on Thanksgiving night, and my emotions. I think there is just a certain extreme shock that can result if you suddenly allow yourself to be completely vulnerable to people whose love, opinions, and judgements you value, and you fear somehow changing. Despite this extreme reaction, I've found that sharing this experience has been helpful and positive for my development, and my relationships with others.

After shaving my head, yes, even right down to the skin, the damage to my hair could still be seen. It is taking its sweet time growing back, and I am hopeful that all of it will. I still often wear hats now while it is growing back and looks funky, but I don't feel like I need to. And I often don't "need to" at all.

Last night I watched the awesome film, Miss Representation. I highly, highly recommend it. Here is a detailed description of it in case you are interested. It is about how the media has marginalized the value and potential of women, and created an obsession with youth, beauty and sexiness. Women are underrepresented and misrepresented all around us, and the effects are devastating. I know that without the constant and specific influence that beauty has had on our society, my Trichotillomania would not have been such a negative and difficult force in my life. It's interesting to consider that if baldness were considered beautiful, I would never have felt ashamed of my condition, or felt ashamed to live life with the confidence I deserved. I'd like to think that I am above internalizing the shallow pettiness of society and the media, and sometimes I certainly can be, but rising above it isn't the best answer. It needs to be stopped. I believe that the silence of good people that know the truth will perpetuate the lies we see and hear more than the liars will. I don't want to be silent anymore.

My friend Heidi was told by some of her photography professors that most of her models look too perfect. I've noticed that she likes her photos as polished as possible, and goes to great lengths to hire an awesome make-up artist, and edit her images to look just the way she likes them. I've gotten photos with her before where I've enjoyed going to her make-up artist, and having Heidi curl my hair. My pictures turned out great. More recently, after shaving my head, I offered to be the kind of model that did not represent perfection. We had a weird, but fun photo shoot. Here are my radically different pictures:





       



 









I don't want to critically evaluate and compare the kind of beauty I see in each photo. Beauty is not the point. It is the opposite of the point. I do, however, want to be able to post both photos side by side and proudly say, "This is me!" Well, this is me!