Through It All

Walking into the salon filled me with an appreciation for the routine things in life that provide a semblance of normalcy. The familiarity of the hair dryers, the style magazines, and the smell of shampoo mixed with hot curling irons made me feel like I had just returned home from a distant, foreign land.

I scooted anxiously into a black leather styling chair as Kania draped a black plastic cape over my shoulders. She unwrapped my hair from its scarf bondage and carefully combed through it. My hair was currently mid-way down my back and shed quite a bit as she combed, so she recommended a shoulder length cut to even things out. I nodded my head in agreement feeling relieved that there was still a good amount of hair left even after the shedding. After the cut, I leaned back into a large black basin for my hair to be washed. It felt so refreshing to feel the warm water rinse away the buildup of dirt and grime accumulated over the past month. After the shampoo application, I noticed Kania getting quieter and quieter, until after about five minutes she turned the water off and said, “Mel, it all came out.”

She didn’t have to explain what “it” was. I already knew that my long, flowing hair, my crowning glory, was gone. It took everything in me to not scream in anguish. Through tears I asked softly, “Can you wrap my head in a drying towel before you lift me up from the washbowl. I do not want to see myself bald.”

Kania took a white hair drying towel and wrapped it securely around my head as she lifted my head up slowly from the wash basin. She sat down across from me and offered the kindest words of compassion.

“Melanie, you are beautiful with or without hair. I will not let this hold you back. If you want, I will make you a custom wig, fitted to your head. It will look more natural than a wig from the wig shop. Just know that you don’t need it. Your inner beauty is what makes you beautiful on the outside.”

She spoke as if she had coached many women through this process. The reassurance in her eyes did not give away that this was her first time dealing with a client losing all their hair. I thanked her for the generous offer and apologized for reacting so emotionally. Thankfully, I was the only client in the salon. Kat and I left with my head still wrapped in the white salon towel. I’m sure I looked absolutely ridiculous, but I didn’t care. I was devastated. I could not imagine what I looked like without hair, and I did not want to find out. The towel was staying on.

My dad arrived from Indianapolis shortly after I returned home from the salon. I tried not to let the disappointment of my hair loss overshadow my excitement for his visit. He gave me a puzzled expression upon seeing the white salon towel wrapped around my head and I realized there was no way around the subject.

I explained, “I lost all of my hair and I am not ready to face what I look like without it. With the towel, I can at least imagine my hair is still up under there.” I gave the towel a reassuring pat as he looked at me quite perplexed.

“What if you get too hot? At some point you’re going to have to take the towel off,” he teased.

“I am not taking it off,” I stubbornly declared. “I can always turn the air up.”

Dad rubbed his own head, which was balding in the middle, and jokingly said, “I’m glad I’m not self-conscious about my bald head.”

I shook my head and glared at him. “Really, Dad?” Leave it to my father to joke about something I was having a complete meltdown over.

He was actually reiterating two valuable lessons I had learned a few months earlier during an occasion I like to call “Mismatched Shoes.” As the name suggests, I went to work one day wearing mismatched shoes. And I’m not talking about slightly different shoes, where one was navy and one was black. No, I am talking about one shoe was cream-colored and pointy-toed, while the other was brown with a square toe. I had tried on both shoes that morning to compare, and in my haste, forgot to actually look down at my feet and commit to one pair. I didn’t realize I was wearing the mismatched shoes until I pulled into the parking lot at work. I looked down at my feet as I was getting out of the car and had that “oh snap” moment. There wasn’t enough time to go back home and change before my first meeting nor was there a store close enough for me to try and get a quick alternative. So, I had to roll with it.

Upon entering the building, I sped to my meeting, hoping no one would notice. I wasn’t so lucky. I received quite a few stares and interesting comments. One person even turned around as I passed and said, “Umm, did you lose a bet?” All I could do was look down at my feet and laugh. My family and friends got quite the laugh out of it as well when I shared the story with them later. When I ran into my manager, he told me, “Act like you did it on purpose. Do you know how many people start trends because they are confident wearing something wacky?”

I didn’t start a trend for mismatched shoes, but his advice certainly helped me get through what could have been an extremely embarrassing day and taught me two things:

1) Confidence is the most important thing you can wear, and

2) Learn to laugh at your imperfections (just like my dad who rubbed his bald head and made a joke out of it).