Her shoes... PART 2: 'how does it feel'

As I wrote in Part 1, many have contributed to my ‘experiment in empathy’…some participated merely in that our paths crossed and this topic was a part of their story; others generously shared their first-hand accounts when I asked, in preparation for writing this; and still others were gracious cheerleaders who offered questions about the experience so that I might better articulate my myriad thoughts on what has been a really varied ride.

I’ve procrastinated* writing this series as it has felt daunting —> I’m certain I’ll leave out aspects that deserve attention & conversation, or not do justice to the brave & articulate women who’ve inspired me, and all of that worries me… alas, all I can do is try and if it moves the needle - even just a little - with regard to this topic then I will feel good.

(*note that I began this draft in May …what follows is from the file of: imperfect action is better than perfect inaction!)

in her shoes: one woman told me that she’d always felt her long blonde hair was her trademark…growing up she’d been lauded by many about how beautiful her hair was and, unsurprisingly, that compliment - on just her hair - became subconsciously equated to her beauty overall, both for her and those around her… sadly, she discovered, it had also seeped into her self-perceived worth. When she was diagnosed with a rare and aggressive type of cancer she - if only briefly - pondered not doing chemo as the thought of losing this ‘piece of myself’, ON TOP of having to deal with the diagnosis, seemed too much to bear.

in my shoes: shortly after shaving my head we - my husband, two kids, and me - ran into an acquaintance. Not one to ever mince words, this older man, was quick to display his ‘displeasure’ at my appearance, followed by incredulity when he asked, ‘why would you do that?’. I had half expected that I might get a reaction like this, at some point from someone, and so I’d braced myself and was able to 1) take a breath and 2) explain why. He laughed, rolled his eyes, and added, ‘I hope you raised some money at least!’ and then turned to my husband, scoffed, and offered something akin to ‘sucks to be you.’ (shout out to our kids who, after we were alone again, wanted to know if I was okay and then reassured me with their disgust anyone would be so offensive.)

in her shoes: one woman wrote about how grateful she is now, after losing her hair to Cancer treatments, when she catches a glimpse of her unwashed hair in a reflection or when the wind blows and her long hair gets stuck in her lipgloss…what had once felt a nuisance now results in joy…. #perspective

in my shoes: in late Spring, when we were pretty much locked down in Alberta due to the pandemic and my head newly shaved, I would sometimes need to get groceries (before I discovered instacart!). It was interesting experiencing how differently people behaved around me as a bald woman vs how they had beforehand. Prior to shaving my head I noted that most would try to follow the pandemic-era aisle arrows and maintain distance from others but, inevitably, there were always instances of people who would forget (or those who didn’t care) and would get nice and close 😬. However, with my new baldness I noticed that people were incredibly careful around me - presumably because they assumed my health was compromised. It was such a weird feeling: simultaneously feeling like I should tell them not to worry as I was healthy and not immuno compromised, while also being quite content with them keeping their distance! This is one of the more interesting aspects of the experience, and I admit to not knowing how I feel about it. On one hand: we’re human and we’re bound to make assessments based on appearance - even well-meaning ones; on the other hand, how many times have we judged the book by the cover and been wholly wrong. If I had been unwell, I think I’d have been really grateful to everyone who respected my space during a pandemic to ensure they didn’t make me sicker, and I’d also likely have been really upset with those who didn’t. It’s a slippery slope between being conscientious & polite and making unfounded/potentially wrong assumptions.

in her shoes: Mom, NEVER wanted to be the centre of attention, tried hard to avoid being in social situations post-hair loss and during her treatments. She was hyper sensitive to the stares, the pity, the looks of sadness on others’ faces - of people known to her and of strangers. While she was appreciative when people were helpful to her - holding the door so we could push the wheelchair through more easily, etc - she was also resentful…not of their kindness, but of never feeling like she could escape being treated as a patient. She wanted her ‘fly under the radar’ independence back, but her appearance always ensured that impossible.

in my shoes: last Spring a loved one suffered a stroke and had to be hospitalized. One day, while visiting, I was waiting at the nurses’ desk to ask something when another woman arrived, seemingly needing to ask something too. I acknowledged her with a smile as we waited and, without nearly any hesitation in time, she asked if I was undergoing Cancer treatment (our city’s Cancer Centre is housed in the same building and so, while forward, it didn’t seem without context to me). I said ‘no’ and explained that I often work with women who lose their hair to treatment and so it was an exercise in empathy. She immediately said, ‘oh, that’s great! Did you raise a lot of money?’ Again, I replied ‘no’, that it was a personal initiative and I’d been disinclined to run a fundraiser during a pandemic. Her face told the story: disappointment. She wasn’t done there though….as she was apparently unsatisfied with my answers thus far, she went on, ‘well, did you at least donate your hair? That’s what my daughter did and I’m so proud of her!’ I answered that I hadn’t’, and she looked so disgusted with me that I quickly felt on the defensive and needed to justify, explaining that I ‘couldn’t donate my hair as it was both too short AND colour treated, but my kids had raised money and donated their hair…..’ The back and forth left me feeling defensive and irritated: WHY did I feel I had to explain myself to this stranger? And WHY did she think it was any of her business anyway?

in her shoes: “Today I let go of my hair and my attachment to it as an image of my ego. I let go of the illusion that it represents who I am. I let go of how I have defined myself for the last 60 years – by accomplishment, external validation and doing.”

in my shoes: when I was 9 months pregnant with our first born we attended a baseball game in San Francisco. As we moved through the turnstile, the ticket-checker moved to stand right in front of me. I was taken aback but then looked at him and saw his huge smile as he placed both of his hands on my belly and said, ‘ I have a gift, I’ve never been wrong…this will be a boy!’ This was something - although usually far less dramatic - that had happened often throughout my last trimester…people feeling like they could touch me or comment on my size or ask questions (questions that only my husband or doctor or closest friend should have been comfortable asking 😳), without consent nor encouragement. It didn't usually offend or irritate me BUT I was aware of it as I had many friends who found it abhorrent behaviour (which, if we’re being honest, it is….no one should ever be touched without their consent). I bring this up as there are many similarities between that experience and the experience of having a shaved head…it is really interesting how many people abandon accepted societal boundaries they’d normally adhere to in these two scenarios. Where is the line between being caring/conscientious and being presumptive/invasive? And why is it left to the person being manhandled to justify why it makes them uncomfortable. I must say again: it’s a slippery slope…that man in San Fran had only goodwill and I easily sensed it BUT that doesn’t make it okay. In conveying this parallel to a friend she asked if anyone had ever touched my shaved head without my prior consent… that never happened to me BUT I was shocked that a number of people not close to me asked if they could.

Q&A - with my thanks to those who asked when I was trying to gather my thoughts:

·      how did you feel in being ‘exposed’ in the wider world? NAKED. it was likely the most liberating thing I’ve ever done (I’ve done things that made me feely truly free before but they were short-lived), but I also felt super conspicuous and vulnerable. It was fascinating to me that posting the self portraits I’d made post-shave felt harder than posting boudoir and bikini shots of myself.

·      did you feel that your hair offered a disguise or camouflage to your vulnerability? 100%. It’s a security blanket, a means of fitting-in, and hair is something that the whole world has an opinion about.

·      did you find yourself explaining or compensating to others? Constantly. Sometimes in a really beautiful way but other times (as above) from a defensive, judged stance. I really believe in the power of shared experience and stories, and so I have been keen to share (as evidenced by this blog), BUT being made to feel like I NEEDED to explain myself to strangers wasn’t cool. It’s also not lost on me that I used selfie filters more this year than I ever have before…as evidenced in this shot from summer 2020. Don’t get me wrong - I love playing with filters for fun, but I really feel like I ‘leaned on them’ more this year than I wish I had. 😔 (PS the ‘no hair’ is one thing, but combined with illness and my ‘quarantine-15’ I really did not feel my best…can you relate?)

·      with the lockdown were you able to get out in public to observe reactions of people you don’t know? When I’d initially planned to shave my head - preCovid - I thought I’d keep it for a few months; however, because I was out a lot less due to the pandemic, I chose to keep it shaved for five months. This longer period ensured I could have a more robust experience. I started letting it grow in October.

·      is your hair growing back? It is 😊 I’ve been keeping the ‘ears down’ portion short with an electric razor while the top grows out…I expect to be able to pop it in a short pony by Christmas! I should say that I’ll miss having really short hair - it was easy, cute (at least I thought it was 😉), and I felt a little badass with it! 😎 Who knows: maybe I’ll do it again!

 ·      ‘best’ and ‘worst’ experiences: from family, friends, strangers? the best experience was how wholeheartedly supportive my ‘people’ were, 🥰 As I wrote in Part 1, I’ve often said - to my mom, to my kids, to my friends, ‘it’s only hair,’ BUT that isn’t how society has trained us to think or feel - so it’s especially poignant when it’s our own hair: how does my hair define me? How do I worry I’ll be perceived if I change or lose it? I think the worst experiences were when people were openly critical and/or judgmental without any context or invitation…this was hard because of how depressing it is that society places such import on women’s appearance, and was made only tougher, truthfully, because I cared. 😔

·      do you regret your decision to ‘lose’ your hair? NOOOOO! 💪 I have LOVED this experience…it’s been all I hoped it would be: enlightening, hard, beautiful, emboldening, liberating, empowering, easy (I’ve never showered so fast in my life!), challenging, and an adventure. I can’t know what it feels like to lose my hair BUT I can now say I know how it feels to walk out into our all too often judgemental world feeling naked and conspicuous, and THAT can surely only add to my empathy for others who don’t have a choice (which, in reality, is most of us: hair loss, hair texture, hair length, etc).

It’s such a vast subject…

patriarchy, women being expected to play their role in meeting society’s definition of ‘beauty’, women’s autonomy to choose her own aesthetic without the pressure (or care) of what ‘the neighbours will say’…

but I hope this - at minimum - gives each of us pause for how we might be contributing to a society wherein a woman subconsciously equates her worth with her appearance. I know I have work to do and I’d venture to say you might too… ❤️

I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this…always room for respectful discussion.

xo Lori