My Hair, My Crown: The Journey Through Hair Loss and Healing
What woman wants to lose her hair? I certainly didn’t. It wasn’t just strands falling here and there—it was clumps, breaking off and becoming brittle. My once-thick, healthy hair was turning into something unrecognizable.
I went to the dermatologist, hoping for answers. She examined my scalp and said, “You have thick new growth; I don’t see why your hair is falling out.” But she couldn’t explain the breakage or offer solutions. Frustrated, I turned to hairstylists, hoping their expertise could help. Every stylist said the same thing: “Your hair is beautiful; we don’t know why it’s breaking.” One stylist asked about my diet, and together we determined I was eating well. By all accounts, my body should have been fostering hair growth, not shedding it.
Still, my hair continued to fall out, and I was at a loss. I cried as I watched it break off in my hands. I became afraid to comb it, terrified of what I’d see in the comb or left on my hands. My crown—my hair—was disappearing. I’ve always taken pride in my hair. I’d worn braids but never wigs, and while I hadn’t yet reached the point of wearing one, I did cut my hair multiple times. I told myself, “Let the old fall off so the new can grow.” But deep down, I knew something wasn’t right.
At the time, I didn’t know I had thyroid issues. I didn’t know how profoundly the thyroid impacts hair health—or overall well-being. All I knew was that my hair would flourish for a while, then become a brittle, tangled mess. I wondered, “Am I stressed and don’t realize it? Is my body rejecting itself?” These questions swirled in my mind as I tried to find answers.
I was loud about my hair loss, perhaps because it was visible. People could see it, and it felt like a normal problem to talk about. But the deeper struggles—the emotional and physical turmoil—I hid. I didn’t want to appear weak or needy, so I kept those feelings inside. I kept searching for answers, but I didn’t share the weight of my pain with others.
What kept me going was my child. The look on their face reminded me to keep pushing, to be a better person and a better mom every day. Even as I felt myself slipping into a state of merely existing rather than truly living, I made sure my child was happy and healthy. With the help of my friends, I stayed on top of his needs, ensuring he never wanted for anything. My child’s joy was my anchor, even as I felt myself drifting.
This nightmare hasn’t ended. Hair loss is just one piece of a larger puzzle—a reflection of deeper issues I’m still working to understand and heal. But this journey has taught me resilience. It’s taught me to listen to my body, even when the answers don’t come easily. It reminded me that I’m not alone and that speaking up—about hair loss, about health, about emotional pain—is powerful.
I’m sharing this story because I know I’m not the only one. Hair is more than just hair. For many of us, it’s a crown, a symbol of identity and self-worth. When it’s threatened, it’s deeply personal. If you’re going through something similar, know this: you are not alone. Keep seeking answers. Keep advocating for yourself. And above all, keep holding on to hope.
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