Shaving My Head Set Me Free
A brave decision changed her life...
My friend, Sian, didn’t look too sure.
‘Do you really want to do this?’ she asked. ‘Really,’ I nodded. ‘It’s only hair.’
She took a deep breath and switched on the electric razor.
But as my hair started to fall from my head to the floor, I realised that this wasn’t just about hair – it was about me.
I’ve been pulling out my hair since I was 10 .
I don’t remember how it started.
‘You’ll have no hair left,’ my mum, Karen, now 54, told me. Whether I was watching telly, sat in the car, or doing my homework, my hands would always wander up to my head and start pulling at the strands.
There were thick tangles of my long, dark hair all over the place.
There was hair all over the settee and the carpets.
Looking back, it must have driven Mum to distraction.
She became worried, so she made me wear my hair in a ponytail, thinking it would make it harder for me to pull at it.
No chance! Soon, my hair started looking really patchy. We did our best to disguise it with clips and bows, but that didn’t stop the kids at school. ‘Where’s your hair?’ they’d ask. Some called me names. Like ‘baldie’. It was embarrassing, and of course I wanted to stop. But this wasn’t just a bad habit, this was more like an obsessive compulsive disorder. By the time I was doing my GCSES, I had bald patches all over my head. I felt like such a freak. Mum had taken me to the doctor and we had even been to see psychologists, but they would all say the
No more hair meant I wouldn’t do it any more
same thing. ‘It’s a habit.’ I had become so frustrated, so I searched for compulsive hair pulling on Google.
I discovered trichotillomania - a condition where people feel compelled to pull their hair out.
And there were a lot of triggers – stress, anxiety, and even depression.
Some, like me, couldn’t understand why they did it.
Perhaps that’s what made it so hard to diagnose.
After finding support networks on Facebook, I no longer felt alone. And I started to wear wigs. They were expensive, but better than being stared at.
And they’re fun. I could change my look whenever I wanted. Of course, there was another solution staring me in the face.
Which is how I ended up at Sian’s with an electric razor. ‘No turning back,’ she grimaced. Within a few minutes, it was done.
I ran my hand over my head. A bare, bald bowling ball.
I knew I’d done the right thing – there was more to me than my barnet. Besides, no more hair meant no more trichotillomania. Initially, I wore wigs out, but gradually, I stopped bothering. I was bald. So what? Around that time, I started a blog for other sufferers to find support. A close-knit, supportive community, we boosted each other’s confidence.
Two months on, I went to Comic Con, a fancy-dress convention. I was dressed as Poison Ivy from Batman, wearing a green dress and a red wig. It was so liberating to finally be able to just be myself.
I have since started regular cognitive behavioural therapy to try and reverse my habit.
It’s a long process of mentally picturing yourself not doing it.
I have been doing quite well with it so far, but I still have a long way to go.
I’ll always have the condition, but it’s not ‘me’.
It’s just a thing I have - like eyes, hands, happiness, and feeling like I’m very lucky.