First of all, my heart goes out to anyone who has ever experienced alopecia. It is one heck of a rollercoaster, and you will definitely be able to conquer its sense of despair with the support of loved ones who see deep into your heart, beyond your physical challenges. Hopefully my story will shed light on my experience, and hopefully you all feel comfortable enough to ask questions and to take the confidence I have gained throughout the years as an inkling of hope for yourselves!
I noticed for the first time a bald spot on the back of my head when I was 10 years old. I didn't think much of it, but with an overconcerned mother, we went to the pediatrician and they diagnosed me right then and there with alopecia. My hair grew back about two months later and life continued on. I had patches show up on and off through the rest of elementary school and junior high, and I just got real creative with my hair styles to cover up what I needed to.
(My twin sister, Baylee on the right, and my homegrown hair back in the day)
High School. My alopecia hit the hardest. That time when teens are already feeling insecure and self-conscious, and if anybody looks at you the wrong way they probably hate you...yeah that was awesome. I ran cross country and track, and I just wore my hair in a ponytail until my spots started to get bigger, and then they started to collide, and then my creative braids and twists no longer covered my bare scalp. My mom found a topical powder that I could use to cover my "spots" as I called them, and this was a lifesaver. I would either spray hairspray onto my head and then dump the miniscule particles onto my spots that matched my hair, or I would rub gel on the spot and dump the powder. Worked great for a long time, but my spots started to get too big and I was using insane amounts of topical powder. I also would just sweat all of it off with my running, and I always felt like I couldn't touch my head, or let anyone else touch my head for that matter. During all of this, I kept my alopecia a secret. I felt more vulnerable and ugly with my condition, and I figured people would treat me differently if they found out. (That poor, poor girl.)
My senior year, I had lost so much hair that my diagnosis changed from mild alopecia to traditional, regular alopecia (clinically diagnosed as alopecia areata.) I still did the hair twisting and arranging and hair spraying to keep things in place, but I was starting to feel humiliated from all of this effort potentially doing nothing to fix the problem. So, we invested in my first topper. It was a little "half-wig" with clips that attached to what hair I had left. I wore this for the second half of my senior year, and luckily (if you could even consider it that way) I broke my foot running and had to get surgery, which solved my running-with-a-wig problem for the time being. Too bad I signed to run for BYU, cause now I had to figure out what to do regardless.
(Those twisty hairdos that worked so well for a short while)
I got by my freshman year of college great with my little topper, and I just washed it every so often because I ran in it everyday as well (and sweated in it a lot too, yes, gross, I know). My alopecia was still a secret because it was embarrassing, and I felt like I had good enough methods to hide my bald spots so I didn't have to tell anyone because it was not visible. However, I did get a new roommate my freshman year, and she was the first person that I ever told about my wig and alopecia outside of my family. It was real awkward, but she was so sweet and good to me, and eventually she became my "does my hair look real/normal" checker. Thank goodness for her. Especially because the summer of my sophomore year of college, all of my hair fell out. All of it. All over my entire body. Leg hair, eyelashes, peach-fuzz, all of it. I would wake up in the morning to see my leftover locks all over my pillow, and every time I would brush my hair, it all came out in my brush. I cried, a lot, and wondered what I had been doing wrong in trying to take care of my hair to have it all fall out at once. As my topper no longer had anything to clip into, I went out and got my first real, full wig. I still cried. It looked so fake and too thick to be anything close to my real hair, and it took me a long time to adjust.
(Last week with eyelashes, and transition to full wig)
But folks, there is hope. I learned to live with no hair, and I even finished running for BYU with a little rat-tail braid attached to a headband, and my signature hats that accompanied me in every workout, every recovery run, and every race. I survived the hot summers with a hot "beanie" (my hair felt like a mix of a fur and swim cap that I was always wearing around) and I survived the winters without freezing to death. And get this miracle, I even continued dating and I found my sweetheart who for some miraculous means found out about my alopecia before I even told him!
(My signature race look--hat always included--and my wonderful Mom)
As I am now married and just out of college, I finally feel like I have the courage and confidence to speak up about this trial, one that I have endured for the last 12 years. I still have kept it a secret, and I am finally coming to terms that people can still like me even when they know this lil secret about me. There are some people I have seen with alopecia who totally own it, and I have so much respect for them. I feel naked when I don't have my hair and eyelashes on, and maybe one day I'll be over that, but I don't actually care that much. (I tell people who ask why I don't own my baldness and always wear my wig that it's equivalent to pants, you don't leave the house in your underwear…) Luckily in a world full of different people, I'm allowed to be different and I can do what I'm comfortable with! Thank goodness! I might be treated differently because I am bald, wear fake eyelashes, have microbladed eyebrows, and still wear a hat every time I workout, but I'm still Britney and I'm happy to be myself. I have especially learned the power of support and inner beauty, and I have come to realize the silliness of the temporary pleasures we take advantage of in this life, especially hair. I still have hope for my hair to return one day, and with that, my eyelashes and eyebrows, but as I said, I have come to terms. I can be happy with alopecia universalis (whole body hair loss) for my whole life if I must, and it is time that I start sharing what I have learned as to not selfishly hide away the miracles that God has brought forth.
(My most supportive and incredible husband, Peter, who still married me even with no hair! What a gem. <3)