unrecognizable. It’s hard looking in the mirror and seeing a stranger. I had to struggle to come to terms with the new me, but in time, I did.”
As I apply her eye shadow and blush, I can’t help but think she’s talking to me.
“Breasts and hair are deemed incredibly important to femininity in nearly every culture known to man. You take away those two things, and you feel like you’ve lost your gender. Suddenly you’re this blank pallet you aren’t sure how to design.”
I understand her words all too well.
“It’s something you never realize, but it’s so true. Our culture is so focused on boobs and hair,” she says.
“Can I get you to open your eyes and look up? I’m going to apply some eyeliner and mascara. Then all you need is lips, and you’ll be done.” I say.
She glances up, and I carefully line her top and bottom lip with a brown lip pencil. “Perfect.” I apply mascara quickly and grab a light nude with a pop of shimmer. “And you’re done. Take a look at yourself in the mirror, doll.” I step back, and she takes a shaky breath.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe that’s even me.” She turns her head from the right to the left and fans her face. “Thank you for making me feel beautiful again.”
“Darling, you are beautiful, all I did was highlight a few of your stunning attributes.”
“Can I hug you?” she asks.
“Absolutely.”
She stands and I give her a gentle squeeze. “I can’t tell you how much I needed to have this conversation. Thank you for sharing your journey with me.”
She pulls away. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
She touches my scarf. “How long ago were you diagnosed? Are you in remission?”
“Six months, but it’s not cancer, it’s Alopecia. I’m still coming to terms with having no hair. It feels so stupid. I know it’s only hair, and this isn’t life threatening, so I should be grateful.” I feel so low whining about an autoimmune disease that attacks my follicles when she’s fought off cancerous cells.
“It’s not just hair when it was taken against your will. You’re allowed to grieve for it, but then you must move on. Don’t let it define you.”
“Thank you, Martina.”
She squeezes my hand and I send her over to Karen for her picture. As I gaze over at the women conversing and enjoying themselves, I’m inspired and rejuvenated. We move to taking group pictures, and lightning strikes.
“Can I make an announcement, here among friends?” I ask. All eyes turn to me and I swallow, hard. “Six months ago I was diagnosed with Alopecia. I’ve been hiding it ever since. Seeing all of you extraordinarily brave, strong women has moved me to come out of the closet. I would be honored if I could take my first public photo with no hair with all of you, so I always remember this day.”
The outpouring of acceptance and encouragement as they wave me over fills my heart, and kick starts my confidence into high gear. I remove my wrap and walk over to the garbage can, tossing it as I reclaim a bit of myself. The cheer that goes up in the room is nothing short of magical. I am surrounded by my sisters who have a woman’s magic. Suddenly I understand the gathering of woman around fires sharing recipes and herbal remedies in days long gone. I step up beside them and I’m reborn when I turn to face the camera and smile as the joy bubbles up inside me. Under the flashes of light, I’m discovering a new me, balance and beginning the process of loving myself in this new skin.
***
I’m starting to wonder if Edgar is a magician. Because I can’t seem to tell him no. We’ve been texting off and on since the day after we went to the movies together. He shocked me when he messaged me on Saturday night to see how I was doing. At the time I was impressed, and in need of the happy distraction after an emotional night with my mother. He hadn’t even followed the three-day rule. I wasn’t sure if it was refreshing or scary. Did it
As I apply her eye shadow and blush, I can’t help but think she’s talking to me.
“Breasts and hair are deemed incredibly important to femininity in nearly every culture known to man. You take away those two things, and you feel like you’ve lost your gender. Suddenly you’re this blank pallet you aren’t sure how to design.”
I understand her words all too well.
“It’s something you never realize, but it’s so true. Our culture is so focused on boobs and hair,” she says.
“Can I get you to open your eyes and look up? I’m going to apply some eyeliner and mascara. Then all you need is lips, and you’ll be done.” I say.
She glances up, and I carefully line her top and bottom lip with a brown lip pencil. “Perfect.” I apply mascara quickly and grab a light nude with a pop of shimmer. “And you’re done. Take a look at yourself in the mirror, doll.” I step back, and she takes a shaky breath.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe that’s even me.” She turns her head from the right to the left and fans her face. “Thank you for making me feel beautiful again.”
“Darling, you are beautiful, all I did was highlight a few of your stunning attributes.”
“Can I hug you?” she asks.
“Absolutely.”
She stands and I give her a gentle squeeze. “I can’t tell you how much I needed to have this conversation. Thank you for sharing your journey with me.”
She pulls away. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
She touches my scarf. “How long ago were you diagnosed? Are you in remission?”
“Six months, but it’s not cancer, it’s Alopecia. I’m still coming to terms with having no hair. It feels so stupid. I know it’s only hair, and this isn’t life threatening, so I should be grateful.” I feel so low whining about an autoimmune disease that attacks my follicles when she’s fought off cancerous cells.
“It’s not just hair when it was taken against your will. You’re allowed to grieve for it, but then you must move on. Don’t let it define you.”
“Thank you, Martina.”
She squeezes my hand and I send her over to Karen for her picture. As I gaze over at the women conversing and enjoying themselves, I’m inspired and rejuvenated. We move to taking group pictures, and lightning strikes.
“Can I make an announcement, here among friends?” I ask. All eyes turn to me and I swallow, hard. “Six months ago I was diagnosed with Alopecia. I’ve been hiding it ever since. Seeing all of you extraordinarily brave, strong women has moved me to come out of the closet. I would be honored if I could take my first public photo with no hair with all of you, so I always remember this day.”
The outpouring of acceptance and encouragement as they wave me over fills my heart, and kick starts my confidence into high gear. I remove my wrap and walk over to the garbage can, tossing it as I reclaim a bit of myself. The cheer that goes up in the room is nothing short of magical. I am surrounded by my sisters who have a woman’s magic. Suddenly I understand the gathering of woman around fires sharing recipes and herbal remedies in days long gone. I step up beside them and I’m reborn when I turn to face the camera and smile as the joy bubbles up inside me. Under the flashes of light, I’m discovering a new me, balance and beginning the process of loving myself in this new skin.
***
I’m starting to wonder if Edgar is a magician. Because I can’t seem to tell him no. We’ve been texting off and on since the day after we went to the movies together. He shocked me when he messaged me on Saturday night to see how I was doing. At the time I was impressed, and in need of the happy distraction after an emotional night with my mother. He hadn’t even followed the three-day rule. I wasn’t sure if it was refreshing or scary. Did it
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