I was born with a head of beautiful red hair. But when I was two years old it all fell out—first in chunks, but within a few weeks I was completely bald. I was diagnosed with an autoimmune condition called alopecia areata universalis, leaving not just my head, but my entire body completely bald.
Alopecia is an autoimmune disease, according to the Cleveland Clinic, where a person’s immune system attacks the hair follicles. When this happens, the person’s hair begins to fall out. The extent of hair loss varies; it can be a few small chunks, the total loss of hair on the head (called alopecia areata totalis), or total loss of hair on the head and body (alopecia areata universalis). Once the hair falls out, there is a chance it could grow back, but it also might not. There’s no cure, but some people are treated with anti-inflammatory steroids or hair growth drugs.
Anyone can develop alopecia, but there's an increased risk if you have diabetes, lupus, thyroid disease, or have a family member with alopecia.
I was told that “girls are pretty with hair” and really believed it. I didn’t know anyone else who had alopecia and had very little support from family or friends, leaving me feeling isolated, ashamed, and like I was the only person in the world without hair.
When I was in middle school, I excelled in sports and started to stand out from the crowd—this time in a positive way. Basketball was the first sport I fell in love with. I spent hours in the driveway shooting hoops, pretending to make the game winning shot. I wouldn’t even think of alopecia; in fact, when I was playing sports, I finally felt “normal.” Meanwhile, I worked hard every day and had big dreams, but there was still a fear that I wouldn't succeed because of my alopecia.
My worst nightmare was that my wig would come off in the middle of a game and that my secret would be exposed to everyone. During halftimes, I would take my itchy wig off, dripping with sweat, and try to re-tape it to my head while hiding in a tiny bathroom stall. I had deep cuts and scratches from keeping it on all the time—all while sweating heavily—but it seemed worth it to save myself from embarrassment.
I only talked about my alopecia to my closest friends, and even then I would still wear my wig, unless I was at home with my roommates. I still remember the first time I went bald in front of them, full of fear, and yet, they had better reactions than I ever could have hoped for. I felt so lucky to have close friends who saw me for me, told me that I was beautiful and that I had nothing to be embarrassed of.
That moment proved to be a pivotal stepping stone, and it slowly became easier to do as time went on. I started to feel a little more comfortable going without it when I was with my close friends. But in public, I was still hiding. And every time I looked in the mirror, I was immediately reminded of my biggest insecurity.
My college town of Duluth, Minnesota, hosted a marathon every year, so I decided to run the 26.2 miles as a challenge to myself. I felt safe in this familiar city with my friends and, of course, my wig securely taped on as I toed the starting line. I didn’t even really train for the marathon (whoops), but as I crossed the finish line all I could think was, 4:17...I can do better than this!
That moment would change my entire life, though I didn't realize it at the time.
After that, I started running every day, picking marathons all over the country to improve my time. Running felt like it was constantly teaching me something—from the hard work and dedication it required to keep going, the peace of spending that time with nothing but my thoughts, and the instant stress relief it awarded at the finish line. Through running, I realized just how strong, tough, and determined I really am.
Countless times I wanted to quit, because I was tired, my legs hurt, it was too hot outside. But every time an excuse popped into my head, it was quickly counteracted by the memory of someone telling me I wasn't good enough or pretty enough to accomplish my goals. I used those words to fuel my fire.
After that first marathon, I set a goal to run 27 marathons before I turned 27, and I accomplished that this past June in San Diego. The more I ran, the more confidence I began to develop. I started to not focus on my alopecia as much, but rather, being a good person, helping others, and being kind. I even started to think I looked pretty without my hair on.
After one 20-mile training run, I got home and immediately threw my wig on the floor, even though I would normally hang it neatly on the head stand (maybe this was me rebelling against the wig). As I made my way to the shower, I passed a mirror and paused for a moment. For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel ashamed or embarrassed of my bald head.
From then on, I started to wear my wig less at home and really started looking at myself. I never knew what beautiful eyes I had, because I never wanted to look at myself that closely in the mirror.
But, because I still felt insecure, I ran with my wig on, no matter how hot or sweaty I got. Then, one summer day last year, mid-run around my neighborhood, I thought to myself, Why am I even wearing this? I don’t need this! I took my wig off for the first time ever in public, and began to cry as I ran home with it in my hand. I haven’t worn it on a run since.
It's just me and the road and I feel as though I can accomplish anything. This sport takes a lot of strength, and through it, I've learned to accept (and even love) my alopecia. My bald head has even become my favorite feature. I can now confidently look at myself in the mirror and say “Yes, I am bald, but I am beautiful!”
If I hadn't discovered running and really pursued it, I don’t think I would have gained the confidence to accept my alopecia. Now, I get so many pre-race good luck head rubs, and I wouldn't change that for anything.
Related:
- Hair Loss Was Scary, But It Hasn't Made Me Any Less Beautiful
- This New Mom Shows the Reality of Postpartum Hair
- This Model Is Embracing Alopecia and Showing Off an Amazing Wig in the Process
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