Note from the author: Although it will take a few months until full recovery, Zoe’s hair has been growing more as she continues to seek help. She is incredibly grateful for the support of her family and hair growth. For this story and more, visit www.medium.com/@zzoehsu/. You can reach Zoe @zoethsu.
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Right before quarantine, my worst nightmare transformed into reality.
I didn’t think much of it at first. I don’t have to visit the salon anymore! I joked to myself. But as days passed, abnormally large amounts of hair fell by gently touching, combing or washing it. By the second week, I lost 70-80 percent of my hair.
So fragile and thin, that all my hair could fit through a wedding ring.
“Mom,” I sobbed, with clumps of hair in my hands. “It won’t stop falling. Oh my god. I’m not even touching it.”
“Don’t cry, Zoe; you still have hair left,” my mom said with a shaky voice as she struggled to pick up all my hair off the floor. She hung her head low so her teary eyes would avoid mine.
I sat on the bathroom floor and stared at the trash can, exasperated at my reality. My long, thick, black hair filled the trash can until I no longer saw the tissues originally there.
My long, black hair, now trash. Gone.
The possibility of losing all my hair endlessly tortured me. The mirror became my worst enemy, but I couldn’t help but imagine how I looked with little to no hair. Appearances don’t matter, Zoe; no one will judge you. But the more I tried to reassure myself, the more I wanted to scream. Because those reassurances weren’t true.
As I stressed about the hair loss, the more frequently my hair fell. I tried buying new shampoo and conditioner, stopped combing and barely washed my hair. But it continued to fall. I shopped for wigs and hair extensions for the first time in my life.
My condition is Telogen Effluvium, which is temporary hair loss caused by the culmination of stress, anxiety or a traumatic event. This was a sign I haven’t been taking care of my emotional well-being.
I’ve always lacked self-confidence. Before a test, I told myself I was bound to fail so I wouldn’t be disappointed when I saw my results. The stifling, academic-oriented atmosphere at school magnified my sense of inferiority. I profusely apologized for everything, afraid I was upsetting or disappointing someone. I felt precarious when building new friendships, terrified of betrayal and constantly questioning why others enjoyed my company.
Most of all, I cared too much about what others thought of me.
Last year, I planned a trip to attend a journalism convention in Washington D.C. for the school newspaper staff’s benefit. I booked the plane tickets, registered everyone for the convention and planned every fundraiser. But I only remember the times I frequently woke up in the middle of the night worrying about funding, or when tickets were available after they sold out. I asked for help, but others were busy with side projects for college applications.
Everything I had hoped for was merely an imagination. My heart sank as negative comments about my leadership and planning reached my ears. To hear others, even if it was only a few, speak of me with such contempt was heartbreaking. I only wanted everyone to enjoy the trip.
I was exhausted in D.C., sleeping two hours a night, crying until 5 a.m. As I pondered over my reputation and questioned my purpose for organizing the trip, an overwhelming swarm of memories surfaced. Broken friendships with no closure. Miscommunication and false rumors. Nothing, absolutely nothing, I did was good enough.
To combat hair loss, I pressed pause on my life. I worked out, meditated, watched comedy and cooking shows on Netflix and Hulu for the first time and spent time with family. I told myself in the mirror, what I accomplished that day was the best I could do. I reminded myself it was completely fine to do nothing for a day. I created passion projects. I treated myself by shopping online. Face masks. Movie marathons. Sometimes I sat outside (safely) and looked at clouds while daydreaming.
I’ve wasted time worrying about others’ opinions and completely destroyed my self-confidence. Why should I live my life horribly? I shouldn’t be treating myself with such disrespect when I should be my own supporter. I’m not the perfect leader, but I’m selfless and hard-working. I’m an advocate who speaks up about mistakes or rumors or issues, even if that makes me the “bad guy.” I shouldn’t be listening to others’ comments when jealousy clouded their judgment and sense of morality.
I am good enough. I am proud of myself.
I am worth it.