February 19, 2025
It feels surreal to even type these words. After over a year of waiting, a year of feeling strangely bare-faced and exposed, I can finally say it out loud: My eyelashes are back! I’m almost whispering it, terrified to jinx it, like saying it too loudly will make them vanish again.
But yes, they're here! Actual, pigmented eyelashes fluttering around my eyes like… well, like tiny, grateful eyelashes. They are little flags of victory, yes, but also tiny reassurances - the faintest tickle against my skin when I blink, reminding me that maybe, just maybe, things are starting to shift.
Wait for it....
And the good news doesn’t stop there....
My eyebrows are starting to stage a comeback, too.
GASP.
They're still a bit shy, appearing as patchy blond whispers, but they're there! With a great sense of freedom, I’ve now ditched the daily ritual of constructing my face every day with tattooed brows and false eyelashes. It was like being a contractor in the mirror every morning – spackle here, paste there, hope it all holds.
I am having fun experimenting with new makeup. My amazing friend Ellen, ever the fairy godfriend, gifted me some eyelash primer and told me about eyebrow tint, and let me tell you, they make the magic happen. It's a whole new level of appreciation for the art of makeup, and for friends who always there for support.
Hey there, mirror, mirror, on the wall...
Looking in the mirror these days feels a bit more like looking at myself again. The fear of being mistaken for an alien life form has finally subsided – and with it, the slightly absurd but persistent worry that the alien drone invasion was here specifically to bring me back to their planet! (Honestly, sometimes my brain goes to weird places.) But truly, that feeling of being utterly disconnected from my own reflection, of not quite recognizing the person staring back – that’s starting to fade.
And it’s more than just vanity; it’s about feeling grounded in my own identity again. It’s a quiet confidence that’s starting to seep back into other parts of my life too, a sense of, "Okay, maybe things are shifting, maybe I'm shifting slowly back towards… well, me."
Speaking of things that are not shifting as quickly as I’d like…
Back on Planet Scalp, the hair on my head hasn’t yet gotten the memo. It seems to be on its own leisurely schedule, completely oblivious to my desperately muttered pleas, still as white, bright, and shiny as a full moon. Some downy, blond fuzz pokes out here and there, and I find myself running my fingers over it sometimes, trying to assure it that it’s safe to come back out into the world - that I'll protect it from over zealous hairdryers and overprocessed highlights.
When I go out into my backyard to take the dog out, it will flutter in the wind, a sensation that Mother Nature gives me to remind me that I’m not in control of any of this. Universe - message received - trust me! I’ll take my wins, though - these small victories, these signs of regrowth, have given me immense hope.
But being really real -- and despite these facial follicle victories -- I’m still deeply entrenched in "wig life" when I leave the house. I haven’t shown my bald head to anyone in the outside world except my mom yet. And honestly, for all my hot air on “authenticity” in previous posts, I’m starting to realize how much of that was just… talk. It's easy to preach about authenticity when it’s theoretical, but much harder when it involves stripping away a layer of carefully constructed presentation.
I just can’t seem to truly come to terms with being publicly bald yet. Fear of judgment, fear of pity, fear of simply not being seen as “attractive” anymore. It’s ridiculous, I know. I’m wondering, though, if now that my eyebrows and eyelashes are tentatively back in the picture, will I have the courage to finally ditch the wig? Maybe having some hair back will feel like enough of a buffer, enough of a return to “normal” that I can brave the world bald. Because let’s be real, it is HOT AS HELL in a wig in Florida in the summer. Miserable, suffocatingly hot.
Having lived this increasingly bizarre dual life – bald and free within my own house, but wigged and “normal” for the outside world – I’ve started to recognize how tightly my ego has been gripping the reins here. My ego whispers all sorts of nasty things: “They'll think you're ugly,” “People will stare,” “Kids will make fun of you.” And we live in a beauty culture that reinforces those whispers at every turn. Magazines, movies, social media – it’s a constant barrage of images telling us what “beautiful” is supposed to look like, and bald women rarely make the cut. (eesh, I honestly wasn't even trying for a pun there.)
I’m still trying to figure out how to reconcile these two “me”s – wigged public me and bald private me. Maybe they need to have a therapy session together? Or at least a very long, honest conversation over coffee.
In other, completely unrelated, “just my crazy life” news – and because life apparently loves to throw curveballs (both good and bad) – I was selected as an adjunct faculty for Entrepreneurship at a local Florida college!
Talk about unexpected. Honestly, I’d been feeling a bit… adrift lately, focusing so much on my health that I hadn’t really been thinking about my professional path. Then, out of the blue, this opportunity landed in my inbox. Teaching is something I’m genuinely passionate about; I love the energy of it and the idea of helping to guide and inspire local entrepreneurs? It just feels… right. But as my life is just one absurd living sarcasm after another, my first teaching assignment is on Executive Presence. Me, the five-foot-tall bald woman - you just can’t make this stuff up….
Until the next chapter of this wonderfully weird life, may your good hair days be plentiful and your eyebrows forever perfectly arched…
Much love…
Kristina 🩷
You made it allllll theeee waaaaay down here? TRES BIEN!!
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