The Day My Hair Fell Away

It only took one treatment before my hair began to fall out. I remember pulling wads from my head and seeing clumps on my pillow each morning. It was one of the hardest parts of the beginning of my journey. People often tried to comfort me by saying, “Oh, it’s only hair, it’ll grow back.” I knew they meant well, but those words were painful to hear—especially coming from people who had the choice to keep theirs.

There were layers to that hurt. The first layer was tied to identity. My hair had always been a part of how people recognized me. The last time I’d worn it short, I was a little girl with a bob. As an adult, I had become “Vanessa with the long hair.” Losing it felt like losing a piece of how I was known. The second layer of pain ran deeper. My hair falling out was a visible reminder that I was sick, that my body was fighting, and that life as I knew it was slipping away.

Of course, everyone around me only wanted to make me feel better—they just didn’t know how. And I can’t fault them for that. They were doing their best to comfort me in a space they couldn’t fully understand.

When it came time to shave my head, it became a family affair. We had traveled to Las Vegas for Thanksgiving, and during that week, we decided it was time. But I wasn’t alone. My little brother, my mother, and my father all shaved their heads too. What began as a painful reminder of loss became a moment of love, solidarity, and strength. In that shared act, I felt covered. It was as if God used my family to remind me that even in loss, I was surrounded by love.

Reflection

Losing my hair taught me that identity can’t be rooted in what is seen. For years, my hair had been part of how I defined beauty, femininity, and confidence. When it began to fall away, I felt exposed—both physically and emotionally. But through that experience, God began to redefine how I saw myself. I learned that beauty was not in my hair, my body, or even my strength, but in the woman who remained when everything external was stripped away. What started as grief slowly became freedom.

Lesson

Some losses come to reveal what can never be taken from us. My hair was gone, but what stayed was my spirit, my resilience, and the love surrounding me. Shaving my head with my family became more than an act of surrender; it was an act of solidarity. God used that moment to show me that even in loss, there is connection, and even in what feels like breaking, there is grace.