I Am Not My Hair

Week 6: The Story Beneath the Diagnosis

I decided to cut my hair because of my treatment. 

It was already starting to fall out, and I kept having dreams that it would come out while I was at work—or just out in public, anywhere. The thought of losing it unexpectedly made me feel anxious and exposed.

So I took control.

I chose to let it go on my own terms.

I stared at the hair in my hand, then at the mirror. It wasn’t just hair—it was history.

It was the hair my mother used to braid on Sunday nights.

The hair I straightened for job interviews.

The styles I wore to feel powerful.

It was the crown I took for granted.

But I didn’t feel bad about losing my hair—because I wanted to survive.

Hair wasn’t the priority.

My life was.

Every strand that fell reminded me I was fighting, and that fight mattered more than appearances.

And besides, I could always buy hair.

But I couldn’t buy time.

I couldn’t buy healing.

I couldn’t buy the chance to keep living.

So I let go of what I could replace, and held on to what truly mattered.

Cancer doesn’t ask permission.

It strips away what you think defines you—your routines, your strength, your hair.

And then it dares you to find yourself beneath it all.

So I did.

I found myself in the softness of my scalp.

In the way my eyes looked bigger, bolder.

In the freedom of not hiding behind strands.

I found myself in scarves, in hats, in bare skin.

In the quiet confidence that whispered,

“You are still you.”

I am not my hair.

I am not my diagnosis.

I am not what I’ve lost.

I am what I’ve found.

So if you’re staring at a reflection that feels unfamiliar, Know this—your beauty, your worth, your story… They were never rooted in your hair. They’ve always lived in you.

You are more than your hair!

Beryl