Note 5 ☕️
5.
Wigging out Part 2
I cut off an inch or two of my hair. Just like that. My solution to the hair situation was to cut it. I had no strategy nor an aftercare plan. I combed my hair and ran out the door to head to an event. When I arrived, I noticed small coarse hairs from my cut job were falling on my shoulders. I wore a bright tee which showed the shards of hair vividly. Super untidy. I spent the rest of the day dealing with my shorter hair.
My mom asked why I did it. I shrugged. My hair wasn’t behaving. Now how do I fix it?
As the years passed, I experienced significant breakage around my edges, and I sustained some sores on my scalp from the relaxer marathon at the hairdresser. I made up my mind to endure the chemicals like a champion. At times, my head would shed so badly when I washed it. I’m surprised I had hair on top of my head.
Through college and into young working adulthood, I continued relaxing my hair. My hair thinned more and more. After my lupus diagnosis, I had to buy a wig because I had no hair. After a hospital stay for nearly two weeks and the promise of a return to work, a wig was imperative.
Thankfully, my mane didn’t stay gone for long. In the process of getting well, my hair began to grow. It felt softer, and I yearned to explore it in its natural state.
However, returning to work was a priority. I couldn’t return to the office without a head of pleasing professional hair! The early 2000s was not the hair revolution. Hence my introduction to wigs began.
The first wig I purchased was with my mom who stayed with me in Washington DC as I navigated life after my first lupus flare. We found a cute, curly bob wig, and I wore it for several months while my soft, less coarse hair grew back. My hair was the texture of a soft blanket. No longer thick and tight.
Afterwards, I would not wear a wig again until 2009 when I experienced another severe lupus flare. At the time I dated the chocolate god and tried to keep up with him and his interests. I wanted him to love me like I loved him. When his love for me began to grow stronger, I was in the process of buying my first home. The chocolate god and I were inseparable at this time. He even met my Dad, which was no small feat.
During this time, I made the decision to drop my participation in the clinical trial, a trial I joined at the beginning of my lupus diagnosis. In traveling back and forth, 90 minutes each way to Duke Hospitals for the continuation of my clinical trial, I decided I was well and didn’t need the trial anymore.
Then, I flared… again. Several quiet years had passed with minimal issues, and I felt stable. During this era, I kept my hair in a beautiful natural afro.
When the chocolate god and I returned from a trip to San Francisco, I had to purchase a wig for work. My front edges were going bald. I hoped I could return to the clinical trial, which was so good for me. Due to the trial logistics, I could not return.
As the flare continued, my relationship suffered. In my perception, the chocolate god was no longer attracted to me. Sigh. I was exhausted most of the time and added pressure beginning to work on a doctorate degree.
The wig I wore at that time was the worst wig I could have chosen. It was long, straight, synthetic and tangled easily. There wasn’t enough brushing in the world to tame one day of wearing that wig, but I wore it. I had to wear something on my struggling head.
One day, the chocolate god and I traveled to the fair in Raleigh NC. I wore a baseball cap over my stringy wig. In typical “me” fashion, I wanted to impress the chocolate god and told him we should get on the hurricane ride. He looked at the ride and then turned to look at me, with a puzzling look. I told him, “I can go on the ride.” I felt the wig was secure enough, and I could tighten it. He looked at me and said “no”. He did not want to be embarrassed nor draw attention to himself.
Needless to say I complied and away we went.
Worst case scenario ran through my mind. “He’s not in this like I’m in this,” I thought. We began arguing, and I demanded he leave. I wanted him to evaporate. He needed to go. My home was mine, and his moods were like a box of chocolates from last year. I allowed him to get his stuff out, and then I blocked his number on my cell phone.
Post-kicking him out, I missed the chocolate god and unblocked his number. A storm of texting began. My friends and some of my colleagues followed the drama as it unfolded. Everyone had an opinion. This is what happens when we confide in people around us and don’t yet know ourselves or our pathway.
A breakup ensued in the most dramatic of ways. And, while I could share the scene that jumped us in the next stratosphere. What’s important to know is: The chocolate god and I never spoke again… not ever.
Once I healed from the flare and began to address my relationship issues and concerns, my season of braids began. Finding a natural hair stylist who would take care of my natural hair was a priority. I found one and kept cute braids for several years.
By 2015, I was dating again. I’d lost weight by then, choosing to diet with Weight Watchers, which worked well. I dropped from 230 to 145 to 138.
At this point, I met butterscotch jamaica, a fiery leo with a huge ego. He was handsome, well spoken, and gentlemanly. He worked as a teacher in the public school system, and he was good at his profession.
Our first date was legendary. butterscotch jamaica invited me to the high school prom at his school. Throughout the summer months of 2015, we dated church-style. No sexual intimacy. We waited until the third date to kiss. Dates in the summer included frozen yogurt at Sweetfrog, coffee at Starbucks, and dancing at the winery. We were so “holy” we listened to contemporary worship songs on the way to that special prom.
Perhaps I spent so much time trying to impress butterscotch jamaica that my time in the sun caused me to lose my hair… again. Noticing a trend?
One aspect of lupus is that prolonged exposure to the sun can trigger rashes. There isn’t enough sunblock in the world to cover trekking up the country’s largest sand dune in the heat of summertime. butterscotch jamaica took me to the outer banks of NC where we camped out behind some sand dunes with a church small group from our church.
Within a few weeks of the trip, the braids began to fall out at the crown of my head. They literally came out at the root leaving bald spots at my crown. By the end of the summer, all of my hair fell out… again. At this point, I was used to moody hair changes. However, this change was coupled with disappointment.
butterscotch jamaica and I called it quits upon his return from family travel. He broke up with me with a reason that made no sense. Probably because it was nonsense. He said we argued too much. But when did we argue? We had one solid disagreement. Bruh, please!
Before he left for the trip, he started spending a lot of time with his “friend”, a girl. I walked into his apartment to be present with him while he packed for the trip. Out she comes from the back bedroom in a night shirt and short shorts. Seriously uncool. She barely spoke to me while I was there. That was the beginning of the end.
When I arrived home from his apartment, I discovered something shocking. A braid from my head of hair was laying on the floor of my car. Nervously I touched my head looking for a bald spot. My fingers reached the spot where the braid was supposed to be. The spot was smooth and soft. My nerves were not.
Post-breakup I found a cute, short wig at the super beauty supply, and that wig became my staple for the next 3 years. It framed my face beautifully. Easy to care for and long-lasting, I bought several wigs of the same style from the store. Mind you I wasn’t into lace fronts… yet. They scared me.
The front half of my hair never grew back. After steroid injections, hair growth serums, vitamins, herbal tinctures, and prayer, the hair would not grow. Eventually I kept it shaved bald and rocked a bald head for about a year before stumbling into Amazon wig land.
What a time of growth!
When I landed in Amazon wig land, I discovered my jam was curly wigs with lots of body. My cousin called me Lola Falana and Tina Turner at Thanksgiving dinner one year. It fit me.
For three years, through the pandemic, I wore some amazing, gigantic Amazon wigs. Fabulous to behold! This trend increased my self-esteem.
Obsessed with finding the perfect wig for the summer, I hopped onto my Amazon app and added another cute wig to my cart full of wigs. I was definitely obsessed.
Staring at my phone, I scrolled up and down my cart attempting to select the wigs that needed to downgrade to “Saved for Later”. There was only one problem. Overanalytical human that I am, I silently argued for purchasing every wig in my cart.
The straight short one for running errands. The wet and wavy one for the nights out. The ombré blond curly one for daily summer wear. The wigs were vital in my wardrobe. I was never fully dressed without the wig of my choice.
I purchased everything in the cart. No guilt.
Adding to my wig collection is like adding food at a swanky vegas buffet to your plate. You never know how it might turn out, but it's generally pretty good. Now if I could only get guys I date to stop pulling on my wig when trying to hug or kiss me, dating would be perfect.
Unless you are comfy with half alopecia/half normal hair, keep your hands away from my hair and be gentle please. One thing I know for sure: the only wigging out I will do is buying a wig and putting it on my head. Wigging out due to relationship drama is a clear and present NO.
Peace and calm only.