Last year, when I got sick and things were looking scary, I found myself fixating on something trivial: my hair.
A year ago, I was diagnosed with a tumor, and I needed chemotherapy.
I remember standing in the shower, holding a chunk of hair, and wondering what was next. As more strands fell out, I realized I had to face the problem.
I tested different hairstyles to disguise my hair loss. I got bangs. I tried out a weave.
I often felt bad for caring so much about my hair at such a serious time. I could have focused on my health, my education, or my future.
But I realized that I concentrated on my hair because I thought I could control it.
Eventually, I got sick of waking up every morning and examining what was left of my hair. It reminded me of a time when I was in pain and losing my health. So, I finally cut it.
I’m not completely out of the woods yet, but my health is stable and my future is looking up.