If you’d allow me angels, I’d like to first set the scene before diving into the trials and tribulations of discovering signs of hair loss.
At the age of 20, I was in the midst of growing out a fringe. Yes, I hear you, at some point everyone has lived through this ever-dreaded stage of the hair cycle. However, this wasn’t the standard fringe that you regret after two months and style into a cute middle part, long bang situ; no, my fringe had been butchered – think more Joey Exotic, less Zoey Deschanel.
As you can imagine it took quite a while to grow out this monstrosity, so my only chance of looking semi decent was to pin the fringe back, plastering it to my head with copious amounts of hairspray, all whilst praying teeny strands didn’t ping back up resembling the favoured hair style of every 10-year-old boy going to the school disco circa 2005.
As painfully slow as the growing out process was, finally, I could sweep my fringe over in a manner that can only be described as bouffant. This was when I started to notice a little bit more scalp peeping through the hair than I was used to – it was contained to a small section at the crown of my head. As I had previously been using what felt like half a gallon of hairspray daily to slick back my resilient little fringe, frets of chemically damaged hair follicles developed. I shared my concerns with those closest to me, who upon examination concluded that I was imagining it – in their defence any signs of hair loss were barely visible at this point and admittedly, I do tend to be a penchant for the dramatics.
Throughout the years I would intermittently go through phases whereby hair thinning consumed my daily thoughts, after which a month or so could go by with me barely noticing it. However, as time ticked on, intervals between each hair related meltdown reduced and by the age of 23, fears of losing my hair started to haunt me ceaselessly.
With initial optimism, I experimented with numerous remedies I read about online. I trialled various partings in the hope that my hair simply needed a break from being habitually pried into a centre part. I also bought hair vitamins – that cost an arm and a leg – as they supposedly promoted hair growth. I even purchased a micro-needle scalp roller which ironically left me with even less hair than I stared with, as little strands would get trapped in the device and at least 8 precious hairs would be yanked out with every use.
With my body image debilitating and scenarios of hair loss plaguing my every thought, I eventually decided to contact a doctor. I was sent for bloods and to my absolute delight, the results concluded I was low in iron (hair loss can be a symptom of having an iron deficiency). Naively, I then persuaded myself that upon completion of the antibiotics, all my hair would grow back, and it would miraculously be three times its original thickness.
I think it’s safe to say we all know biology just don’t work like that…
Fast-forward to January 2022 (obvs the antibiotics hadn’t been successful), I had an over-the-phone appointment with a young female doctor and within minutes of hearing my symptoms, she declared I most likely had Androgenetic Alopecia, and so booked me in for a face-to-face to conduct a scalp examination. Truthfully, at this point the words Androgenetic Alopecia didn’t really phase me. I didn’t know enough about the condition and anyways, I was still convinced some minor scalp issue would be detected, I’d receive some form of ointment and be on my merry little way to re-gaining a full head of hair.
However, my preconceptions were finally shattered during my in-person appointment when the doctor confirmed that I do indeed suffer from Androgenetic Alopecia, and it began to hit home that this was not something I could necessarily fix – the chances of my hair becoming increasingly fine over time were inexplicably high. I left the practice in tears and immediately ran to my mum’s work and cried my little heart out.
Soo, here we are today, over a year and half since my diagnosis.
Reflecting on my journey, I really wish I’d acted sooner in seeking out help, instead of allowing my anxieties to take hold. But then again, my hesitancy makes sense as I think I was always a little scared of what the answer could be. I willingly listened when people told me there was nothing wrong with my hair, when I should have been tuning in on the niggling voice at the back of my head telling me something wasn’t quite right. Realistically, the sooner you receive a diagnosis, the quicker you can take action and attain some sort of autonomy over the situation.
So, to the girlies that are experiencing perpetual feelings of unease every time you see your hair in the mirror, pictures, or teams (truly the most humbling experience in my opinion), listen to them. You know your body better than anyone. Go get it checked out, and if you’re not getting the answers you deserve, keep pushing!