Too much trauma this week. My "hair" appointment was emotional. I admire the take charge women who shave their heads with a my-bald-head-is-beautiful and a kiss-my-ass-if-it-makes-you-uncomfortable attitude. But I feel shorn.
Losing my hair was a grievous process. Half gone by Tuesday morning, it was falling out everywhere. My dogs laughed at me: I was shedding!
To fit into my new hair, I had to give what was left of the old. The process: brush, scalp massage and then the clipper's evil buzz takes the rest. My kick-ass friend Valerie held my hands through that moment. I left Madeleine's with the big, sexy, Texas hair of my dreams, but I'd lost my hair and a basic recognition of myself.
Psychologists say babies recognize themselves as separate beings before language in the "mirror moment." It's when we develop our self-awareness, our self-image. I identified strongly with my hair in my mirror moment--I know this for sure!
What is true beauty? Can I still feel pretty without my locks? This is the journey of authenticity. The women survivors of breast cancer whom I've met radiate a glowing confidence. I think this redefinition of what beauty truly must be is one of the underpinnings of that power.
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