Not long ago I had an afro that made me proud, but when I learned that I was balding, I knew it was only a matter of time before I lost it all. 

I was patiently waiting for that day to come, but anytime I got out of the shower and saw that more and more hair was falling to the ground each day, or when I looked into the mirror and noticed my hairline receding, it only intensified my fears.

It became too much for me to handle. So, as anyone might do in my scenario, I sped up time, and in an effort to accept my future, I took my razor…and went bald.

To me, and potentially many other people, my hair is more than just a way to connect to my roots and culture. It's a story. A story that showcases the history of oppression and discrimination people who look like me have faced. A story that showcases the strength and resilience against colonization and our right to expression. A story of being Black.

When I let my hair grow into an afro, it represented freedom and autonomy in my newly-found adulthood. My parents, up until a certain point, had always decided what haircut I would get. Whenever I got to choose, I always chose either a ridiculous hairstyle (Like when I got a mohawk in grade 6 just for funsies) or whatever was fastest because sometimes sitting in that barber's chair felt like an eternity.

I never chose a particular hairstyle for attention; I didn’t do it out of defiance. I just wanted the freedom to try new things, regardless of whether it looked terrible. But that was when I was young and blissfully secure/ignorant. 

Eventually, I started losing confidence in myself. By junior high, I was back to letting my parents or barber choose hairstyles for me as I was wildly self-conscious about what other people thought of me. I trapped myself in a world of chaotic inner dialogue and hated myself for every little thing I did. 

It wasn’t until recently that I learned what it meant to love myself, and my roller coaster of a hair journey played a huge role in that process.

In high school, my ma got me in touch with a new hairstylist who gave me a cut so fresh it could change a man. The next day at school, the compliments flooded in and my confidence skyrocketed. From then on, anytime I needed a pick-me-up, I’d go to my barber. Sometimes the cut would be a little off, but sometimes he’d nail it, and that dopamine hit I got after the perfect cut became one of my favourite things.

So imagine my surprise when my barber tells me that I would be going bald. 

I was devastated and scared. I tried my hardest to accept it and move on, but my mirror, my bathroom floor, and the amount of hair that was left on my pick were constant reminders that it was only a matter of time before there would be nothing remaining.

So a couple months ago, I let it all go.

Finding acceptance and self-love after losing something that has been such an important part of expressing my identity, my culture, and my shared history was tough. It felt like I needed to relearn who I was.

My struggles with coming to terms with what was going on emerged from some of the biases and stigmas I was unaware I had. Social media perceptions, how certain advertisements are framed surrounding baldness, and so many others all contributed to the idea that baldness is bad –– something that should be prevented rather than accepted.

In our society, baldness is seen as a problem, and those going through it are often demeaned. Take this keeps ad for example; while subliminal, the message is clear: hair is attractive, baldness isn’t. 

I know that there are a ton of bald men that are highly attractive like Dwayne Johnson, the late Lance Riddick, and Mike Colter, but seeing bald men next to a person with hair just makes me feel like I’m a duff (props to you if you know that reference btw). 

There’s also a lot of non advertising-related stigma associated with going bald. My dad will often say that his patchy, thin grey hair is ugly. I knew it was just him voicing how he feels about it, but those words instilled generational fear in me. Would I be ugly for being bald? Would I be ugly when I'm old? 

Hearing comments like that just brings back those feelings of self-hatred and loss of control. But when I cut my hair, when I wasn’t trying to hide my hairline, when I wasn't worried about taking hours to get the tangles out of my hair because I may or may not have forgotten that I was Black and had super curly hair and didn't pick it out (totally didn't happen by the way), there was a sense of relief. 

Going bald, or learning that you're losing hair, can be terrifying and stressful. But throughout this journey, I’ve learned that losing your hair is as natural as growing it out, it’s just life. I am still not 100% confident in my future, but I know that I am on the right track in accepting my hair and myself.

And to whoever reads this that may be in a similar position, you are not alone and you are beautiful no matter what the top of your head looks like.