Chemo works by attacking rapidly reproducing, quick-growing cells. That’s why it also comes for a person’s hair. Each and every one of our 100,000 or so strands is growing at an olympic pace. When it comes to chemo, the faster something grows, the less likely it is to survive.
I was thinking about this in the shower this morning. Having started chemo again, my hair has begun leaping off my noggin and belly-flopping into the shower drain.
Walking through the world looking like Mr. Clean last year taught me a few things. I call that time my life ‘The Ego Apocalypse’ –– and I mean that in a good way. Some worlds need to end, and the part of my inner world that needed my outer presentation to be beautiful in the world’s eyes has laregly burned to a crisp.
Last year I learned to love myself, and by my “self” I do not mean my hair. I don’t mean any part of me that I can see in the mirror. I mean the part of me that the mountain lake water reflects when I’m not even there.
As that lesson has already been learned, this morning I wondered, What’s the hair loss lesson gonna be this year? The answer found me as quickly as I asked: Chemo works by attacking fast-growing cells. The faster something grows the less likely it is to survive. If you’ve ever gotten down on yourself for growing or learning slowly—maybe that gradual pace was the most sustainable one.
I’ve historically struggled to make peace with the pace of my own learning. I’ve always wanted to be braver RIGHT NOW! Always wanted to be wiser, RIGHT NOW! I’ve wanted the warmest part of my heart to have a direct line to my voice box, RIGHT NOW! And I’ve wanted the coldest part of my heart to catch some incurable case of bronchitis and mute its voice forever, RIGHT NOW!
What are the things you get down on yourself for not learning faster? Do you have a short temper you wish would grow skyscraper-tall this very minute? Have you not yet been able to forgive yourself for something you’ve worked hard to try to forgive? Are you struggling to be gentle with yourself for having a hard time getting over your ex? Is bitterness a taste you can’t yet scrape from your tongue?
What I know is this—we can’t hate ourselves into better versions of ourselves. Beat yourself up for not being where you want to be, and you’ll find you’re too bruised to keep walking in the direction of light.
So, as my fast-growing hairs begin to fall like stars, my wish for this time is this: To love the parts of myself that grow slowly. To recognize those parts are growing at a steady and unkillable place. Will you join me these next months in renaming what you have called ‘a slow pace’––’a living pace’? Will you join me in offering yourselves that kindness? I hope so.
Love, Andrea 🖤
I’m on my second round of cancer, and the best thing I did for myself this time around was shaving my head. Not only did it take away the constant hair fall, but it made me feel powerful. I even had my dad shave my hair into a mohawk for fun, just long enough for some pictures, but it was fun. I’ve always been far too attached to my femme look to even try a more radical or masculine look. And it was fun to be silly and wild amidst something that could have been gut wrenching. It’s amazing to me how sometimes many things about cancer don’t suck. The chance to take back power from a potentially dark source is definitely one of them.