I blame my mother. That’s right, I blame her for instilling in my young mind to always strive for outward beauty. “Always pretend that there is a hidden camera out there trying to capture an image of you because the way you look will determine how you are perceived by the world.”

I remember my mother used to make fun of my overbite. I would catch her staring at me and mockingly copy how I looked. I never really thought that was funny. As early as 12 years of age, I made it a point not to get out of the house looking disheveled or without makeup. While my friends did not care about how they looked and would go places as they were, I was always preoccupied with looking my best.

Today at 61, I still do the same. Although I must say, it has progressed to an even higher level. Alongside major life changes like weight gain and aging, God forbid I see someone in public, whom I haven’t seen in ages, thinking “What happened to her?” Thus, the lengthy preparation before I set foot outside the house. My husband of 40 years gets the brunt of the waiting game every time we go out even if only to the grocery store. Thank God for YouTube videos on his phone that time flies, and he usually has no clue how long the transformation took each time.

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I am fortunate to live in an era where looking good can be enhanced with camera filters and AI. I have mastered the use of this part of high technology to my advantage. In my mind, there will still be imperfect candid pictures of myself out there taken by others, but at least, I did all I possibly could to look good.

As I aged, I began spending a lot of time doing my hair. The years have made it thin and limp that a majority of the process is fluffing it up to attain body with the use of a blow dryer and curling iron. This means waking up early in the morning each day before work to style my hair, not to mention applying my full-coverage makeup.

The past year, I’ve ignored the blobs of hair my husband would gather like a bouquet from the bathroom floor on my side of the sink, leaving them on the ground for me to throw away. We both never really talked about it. It was just a repetitive habit of he gathers, and I throw away.

One day, it just hit me. I found myself staring at both sides of my head in the mirror revealing a tremendous amount of hair loss on my scalp to the point of balding. At the same time, I realized both my eyebrows looked like they’d been cut in half. A sense of panic overwhelmed me, more than what I felt when I found my first gray hair. The turmoil was immediately accompanied by torrential flashbacks of the blobs of hair on the bathroom floor that I used to throw away. Something was terribly wrong.

A surgical biopsy was ordered by dermatology and before Christmas 2023, I was diagnosed with frontal fibrosing alopecia. I read online that there were many kinds, but what I have as my dermatologist termed it, was “scarring alopecia.” Permanently burnt-out follicles that will never regenerate. The goal now is to treat some of the follicles that are still salvageable by injecting them with steroids alongside some topical ointments I was instructed to apply regularly.

My daughter took it hard when I told her that I caught a glimpse of her dad looking at my hair loss with seemingly sad eyes. Being naturally compassionate, she gifted me a wig to wear Christmas Eve. “I want you to feel beautiful again, Mom,” she said. She always manages to boost my spirit in difficult times. This time was no different. For the first time in a long while, I had perfectly reddish hair with the body I could only wish for, as I posed by the Christmas tree.

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I try to appear strong because I know my daughter observes how I battle adversity, but in my alone time, tears will just flow for no reason. As I brace myself for the long road ahead and the uncertain result of treatment, I try to busy myself fancying different styles of hats in-store and online. I do not style my hair anymore which has cut my morning preparations tremendously.

I am picturing my new life with alopecia as challenging but dependent on how I choose it to be. My head will always be covered in public, and I will be constructing my eyebrows like artwork in the mornings before I head out. But the unexplainable peace that came over me at one point when I read the Bible in the book of 2 Corinthians 4:16, “Therefore we do not lose heart.  Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day” was truly transforming.

If my mother were alive today, I am sure she would express admiration for how I am handling this situation, which might be deemed as every woman’s nightmare. After all, not only did she raise a woman who strives to look good, but more importantly, she raised one with an inner strength that can weather all of life’s storms.

I blame her, but I also thank her. Her indomitable spirit lives in me, something I aspire to pass on to the next generation. This is my mother’s legacy. Equipped with her survival mindset makes a whole lot of difference between the drudgery of having to wear a hat each day and the confidence I exude to the world that wearing a hat is really a cool thing. God bless you mother.