Mojo and the Mess

Earlier this week I wrote about losing my hair.

About the clumps. The fear. The moment I finally shaved it.

But that was still the before.

This is about the after.

The first few days.

The first time you walk into public and realize everyone can see what you’re going through.

I thought I was ready.

I told myself I was confident.

That I didn’t care.

That I’d hold my head high.

And then people opened their mouths.

At a bar, a man leaned over to my husband and said,

“Why would she shave her head? She was so pretty.”

Not to me.

About me.

Like I wasn’t standing right there.

In a bathroom, a woman looked at me and said,

“I could never. I’d have to wear a wig.”

Like this is a choice.

Like I woke up and picked cancer as a personality trait.

People think they’re being honest, or kind, or curious.

But what they’re really doing is reminding me that I used to look different.

That I used to look better in their eyes.

Here’s some of the shit people say:

“At least it’s just hair.” “It’ll grow back.” “You’re still beautiful, don’t worry.” “You’re so brave.” “I could never do that.”

And here’s what it translates to:

You were prettier before.

You make me uncomfortable.

I’m glad this isn’t happening to me.

I don’t know what to do with your pain.

They don’t see the nausea.

The fear.

The way my body doesn’t feel like mine anymore.

They just see my head and decide they get to comment on it.

I didn’t lose my hair for attention.

I lost it because I’m trying to stay alive.

And some days, I’m so angry I can feel it in my bones.

Angry that strangers think they’re entitled to my body.

Angry that I have to be polite while people dissect me.

Some days I want to scream,

I am not your lesson. I am not your inspiration. I am not your warning label.

I am just a person who got sick.

But even with all that anger —

I am still blessed with people who build me back up.

Friends who remind me I’m still me.

Strangers who say, “You look powerful.”

Women who lock eyes with me and nod, like they understand without words.

My husband, who tells me I am beautiful even when I can’t see it.

They exist too.

And they matter.

So yes, some people are careless.

Some are cruel.

Some don’t think before they speak.

But I’m learning that their words don’t get to define me.

I am not my hair.

I am not cancer.

I am not what you lost when you look at me.

I am still here.

And that is enough.

Stay Connected 🤍

If this spoke to you, you’re not alone here.

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Thank you for being here. Thank you for seeing me.

— Izzy 🖤