Imperfection: My Journey With Alopecia
Alopecia. Just typing the word still gives me chills. It’s as if my body has a visceral reaction to reject the diagnosis, because it seems so...permanent.
My journey with alopecia began long before I even knew what it meant. All I can remember is that I was eight years old, my parents had just gotten divorced and all I wanted to do was fit in at my new school. My hair was freshly permed then braided so that I looked presentable. It wasn’t until weeks later when my braids started coming out one by one that I noticed some of my real hair coming out, too. I didn’t mention it because as far as I could tell, everything still looked normal. As time went on though, things started to look strange. My scalp was red, irritated and flaky all the time. I knew what dandruff was, but this was overkill! At this point, I started wearing different hairstyles to cover up the small patches that developed in the front of my head.
I went to see a dermatologist and was told that I had eczema and would have to grow out of it...eventually. I wasn’t sure what eczema was or how long “eventually” would take, but I did know that I wanted my life to remain normal. You see, I am a perfectionist; I had no idea what that meant either when I was younger. All I knew was that I wanted to continue being the “golden child” of my family. They saw me as smart, well behaved and pretty. The one who didn’t cause a lot of problems for her mother. I was so hell bent on maintaining my reputation that I continued to hide, or at least attempted to hide my hair because I couldn’t risk being anything less than perfect. Somewhere between grade school and puberty my attitude towards my hair grew from a flaw to complete insecurity. I figured that no one would ever think that I was perfect if my beautiful hair was gone. From a young age, girls are told that hair is our “crown” and who was I without that crown? No one important.
Even with all my attempts to hide what was going on, the kids at school saw right through the facade and I became the butt of their jokes. So I tried to shrink myself, become invisible. I thought, “if I don’t cause problems with anyone, maybe they’ll leave me alone”. For years after the teasing, I made it my personal mission to make sure my hair was always done. I kept replaying the words that a family member said to me “just cover it up”. So that’s what I did; I wore braids and every type of weave that I could find with no concern for the health of my hair. It was like an addiction.
Even when I was in relationships, I would never let guys see me without weave and I absolutely wouldn’t allow them to touch my hair. The perfectionist in me glorified my inadequacy and minimized the amazing qualities that I possessed, which completely killed vulnerability and intimacy for me. Unless everything meets the perceived standards of others then nothing is good enough. I can’t begin to explain how exhausting it was to stop in front of every mirror to make sure that any patches of hair loss were covered or to disengage from conversations about hair tips/styles because I didn’t want anyone finding out my secret. Dealing with hair loss severely affected my self esteem for a long time and caused turmoil in a lot of my relationships. I thought that the only thing someone saw when they looked at me was what was wrong and never anything that was right. I always hated too much attention because I knew that if people looked at me long enough, they would see my insecurity.
It wasn’t until my late twenties when I decided that I wanted a change. I no longer wanted to carry this weight of shame and I simply wanted to feel secure in my own skin. So I got my hair cut and I felt beautiful and seen as just myself, no additives. My hairstylist was the one who recommended that I try a dermatologist again. This time, my doctor is an African American female who focuses on hair loss in women of color. She diagnosed me with scarring alopecia (I had no idea how many variations of alopecia existed) and she told me that it’s completely treatable. Although I have noticed immense improvement with my condition, the mental and emotional scars were another hurdle that I had to tackle. I have to remind myself often, that I am more than my hair and being loved, in any capacity, should never be dependent upon a superficial attribute that can change at any moment. This journey has felt excruciating but the most rewarding part has been learning to love and accept myself independent of other people’s expectations and opinions. I’m grateful for brave women like Rep. Ayanna Pressley, who share their stories and give hope to others dealing with the same condition. If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that perfection is just a figment of my imagination and being perfect is boring anyway.
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Priscilla Clinton
is new to blogging but is not necessarily a stranger to writing. She’s always had an affinity for art whether it’s diverse genres of music, eclectic paintings and sculptures or literary works by scholars such as James Baldwin. Her background is in science; possessing a degree in Biology from Clark Atlanta University and a doctoral degree from Indiana University. Dr. Clinton has been practicing dentistry for the past four years, which she loves and gains fulfillment in educating her patients on proper oral health. In her free time, Dr. Clinton enjoys traveling and experiencing different cultures, mentoring underrepresented students desiring higher education and spending time with family and friends. She is also the cohost of a podcast called “Misdiagnosed”, which creates a platform for young minority professionals to discuss disparities in academia and the workplace. After her studies were completed, she returned home to Chicago, IL which is where she currently resides. She considers herself to be adventurous, as she has learned to view obstacles as opportunities instead of roadblocks.