Alopecia

I don't remember the event, not clearly, I just remember it was in my Pre-K year of school. My mother, once a beauty school student and Miss Nevada, was probably doing my hair in a simple ponytail or just brushing away my wild bed head, and noticed something... new.
     A small bald patch was tucked into the layers of my light hair. I was too young to panic, too young to even slightly understand, and went to school with no cares, as usual. Eventually, after a visit to the doctor, we learned it was simply "child's alopecia; she'll grow out of it."
     The patch came and went each year, and was usually in a different spot, but never much bigger than a nickel or a quarter. In third grade, the patch- located just below my hair whorl this time- was a little bigger than usual, and could have been seen fairly easily if I just tilted my head to either side. So in a loving attempt to help, my mother pulled my hair into a ponytail every single day before school. Eventually, that got exceedingly annoying, and I quit letting her, still too young to truly care how it would affect me, and things generally stayed bright and cheery.
     It wasn't until sixth grade that the pattern changed, drastically worsening with little sign of going back.
     Alopecia is a fickle thing; no one can pinpoint the cause behind it, as it changes from case to case. Some people, it simply seems chronic, others, malnutrition or malfunction in the way the body intakes nutrients, and most, a stress trigger. For me, it seemed to be a combination of all three.
     In sixth grade, my mom fell into her second marriage after two months of dating the guy. Initially, he wasn't all bad, but the summer leading up to school became more and more intolerable as two families collided into a tiny house with completely different personalities on all sides of the board. Quite literally, my stepsister and I were constantly gnashing at each others' throats, and my stepdad became a force of more change than anyone should ever have to go through in two months.
     To top it off, my mother wanted me to stay there and go to school in that city.
     By the month of November, I had- instead of a patch of hair missing- a single patch of hair left.
     I felt uncomfortable, bare, and always watched. Most days, I wore a little orange sun hat, until my mother and I decided upon ordering a wig, which came in on Halloween that year. The kids at my school enjoyed it, and I felt beautiful and complete, and after the first semester of the school year passed, my mom gave me the option to move back to my dad's house.
     Returning home was not what I expected. Within the first hour of being back at my old school, someone asked if I were wearing a wig. Frightened, I didn't know what else to do but lie- it was just extensions, and some dye. But for months, the same question was asked over and over, and eventually, I broke.
     It was on the playground; my friends and I were digging around the same tree we always were (some silly attempt to make a fort underneath the tree), when one of the country boys comes up and asks, once more, if it were a wig. Hot, itchy, and tired of lying, I broke, and boldly told him that it was. Inquiry immediately followed, and I explained my condition, which he returned with surprising me by asking to take it off. I figured there was no point hiding from him- he knew my secret- and removed the thing from my head.
     "Cool," was his only response, with that boyish laugh of genuine interest. When he ran off, I thought that would be the end of it, and put the wig on my head again, but he soon came back with a cluster of his friends all asking to see as well. I was a little less bold this time, but succumbed, and then after put the wig back on. It happened one more time after that, with more friends to witness it.
     And I did not put that wig back on.
     In fact, I waved it on my fingertip the rest of recess, down the hall on the way back to class (skipping with a smile, might I add), and happily slammed it into my locker.
     For a while, people commended me for my bravery, but it was over time forgotten, and junior high the next year was a different sort of trial; the people were new, they didn't know me, hadn't been there for my act, and took me for a freak. I collected a variety of crude nicknames, but never once shed a tear over them or even showed aggression. I was happy for who I was and had no intent for anyone to alter that.
     Eventually, my hair grew to my shoulders, but I had a gaping bald spot in the back, and the underside of my head never grew hair again. By freshman year, I was bald again, excluding a single strand on the side of my head, which eventually fell out as well. Peach fuzz grew, and darkened, then fell out again.
     Four years, four years and my head never managed to retain a full head of hair for any length of time.
     Now, nearing the close of my senior year in high school, my hair reaches my shoulders, the most hair I've had in far too long. My hairline is receded on one side, and there's no hair above or behind my ears, which goes bare all the way to the nape of my neck where I don't even remember the feeling of hair anymore. In the back, below my whorl, is the same patch from third grade, but softened with new growth.

Things come, and things go.
We all suffer, and we all grow.
None of us are without flaws, and can not escape them.
So what can we do? Accept the flaws. They are just as beautiful as our highlights. Without them, our highlights would be worthless, we, would be worthless.
I will probably never have a beautiful hairstyle to accentuate my wedding dress, or feel immediately confident when approaching a cute boy. I will probably never be able to have a long braid that falls below my waist, or go without jumping when someone playfully snags my hat.
But I'll tell you what:
I've never had to shave my legs.
I can wear a hat to school year round.
I can get henna tattoos along my scalp, or have someone draw a face on the back of my head.
I can laugh at my experiences and share my stories with anyone who will listen.
I can hold my head high an know, know without a doubt, that I am beautiful.
You see, it is not the little things life takes away that affect me, but the big things it teaches in their stead.


It's all just a matter of perspective, and as I always say:
Stay strong, and smile always.