Breaking Free from Wigs to Wings

For over 20 years, I've had a complex relationship with wigs. It's like the ultimate love-hate saga: captivating and chaotic! I hated them because, let's face it, I never really felt like myself when I wore them. They felt like masks hiding my thinning hair and, ironically, my true identity. I could almost hear them whispering, "Surprise! You're not really you under here!" Yet, they also offered this strange sense of comfort, a security blanket, if you will. They let me disguise my pain behind a perfectly coiffed mane adorned with a cute makeup beat, outfit, and attitude to match. "Oh, hair today, gone tomorrow!" I'd say, convincing myself that the versatility of wigs was a fabulous perk. I was a chameleon of wigs, hiding my true self beneath layers of fibers that were not my own. I missed my hair, but with wigs, why commit when I could switch looks like changing channels with a TV remote.

As I began diving into serious inner work, I started questioning everything. What was the real reason I clung to these wigs like they were my last line of defense? I would spend endless hours hunting for affordable units online, only to buy multiple versions of the same style. Trust me, my head was spinning with options! But that was just the beginning. I dreaded those nosy questions that came along, like, "Is that your hair?" or "Wow, is that a new hairstyle, Christal?" I felt like a stage performer constantly dodging questions or thinking on my feet with a quick-witted comeback to unpredictable comments or questions. 

For years, I walked around in a daze, bubbly on the outside but numb on the inside. I longed for a deeper connection with myself—something a wig couldn't fulfill. I wanted to peel back the layers and see who Christal really was beneath all the hair. But this invisible tie was binding me to my wigs, a bond I didn't know how to break.

Time heals, they say, and oh, how true that is. It took a lot of patience and reflection to reach a place where I could look in the mirror without a wig and smile back at my appearance. My faith taught me to focus on what God thinks of me rather than those nasty, negative voices that said I was unattractive and unworthy. It was about shifting my gaze—journaling, doodling, and writing little love notes to myself that I would keep handy whenever self-doubt crept in.  It was about connecting with others who shared similar struggles and finding solace in the alopecia community because, after all, it really does take a village. 

The day I finally stepped out bald, I felt a mix of relief and empowerment—with a sprinkle of uncertainty. But the uncertainty didn't last long. For the first time, I wasn't worried about what others thought, and those internal voices lost their sting. My happiness was no longer tied to a wig. With this newfound clarity, I decided it was time to let go of my wigs. I was going to put them up for sale on my website. In my mind, I thought, "These babies are going to fly off the shelves!" Pouring my heart into attractive photos and catchy descriptions, they just sat there, to my surprise, collecting virtual dust.  Not a single wig moved. Everyday, they stared at me from a bin in the corner of my room, a reminder of the sadness I had once felt. They were taking up space—physically and emotionally. I had come so far, yet there they were, a silent tether to a past I was ready to release.

So, I did what any modern woman in a crisis does—I Googled. My trusty internet bestie led me to information on wig donations, and before I knew it, I was packing them all up—every last one, accessories included. The following day, I carried the bag of goodies to work, hopped on the shuttle bus to a nearby cancer center, and found a lovely volunteer.

"Are you sure? This is a lot," she said.

Without hesitation, I smiled and said, "Yes."  

We exchanged mutual smiles, and the moment she took that bag from my hands, I felt lighter—a wave of relief, a touch of giddiness. I had finally let go of my security blankets. I kept this little victory to myself. I didn't post it online or rush to tell anyone. It was a moment for me—a private celebration of freedom.

I got back on the shuttle, headed to work, and finally sat there feeling truly Unapologetically Bare.

FINAL THOUGHTS: Letting go of my wigs wasn't a "take that to all you wig wearers, look what I can do!" statement to the alopecia community—it was a personal transformation, a butterfly finally emerging from the cocoon where I had hidden for years, carrying emotions and fears that reached far beyond hair loss. It was simply my time to fly in my own way. And that's the beauty of this hair loss journey—it's different for each of us. Some paths include wigs; some don't. Some are filled with uncertainty, but with patience and courage, we all find our way to shedding what no longer serves us and stepping fully into who we are meant to be.

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