Ditching the Gray

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I had lunch with my personal trainer in June. I was delighted that he wanted to take me to lunch… so much so that I decided to take a selfie with him. Looking at the picture later, I was horrified. Some people would look at the photo and say ‘It’s a nice pic!’.

But what I saw finally toppled the remaining ramparts of my self-esteem and I said to myself ‘No more’. That corona of gray hair on my head was something I could no longer abide. Some people have fully embraced their gray — and I fully support that — but as for me, I could no longer accept it.

There’s a long painful history to my gray hair in terms of how long I’ve had it and why I’ve kept it. My head has always betrayed me in every way.

First I started growing gray hairs in my early twenties. Of course it was sparse at first, but gradually it filled in more and more. Later, in my early thirties, my hairline started receding too. Thank goodness at least facially I looked younger than my age because my head was determined to age me as swiftly as possible.

But the most harrowing issue was something that commenced in my mid-twenties. I suddenly developed a medical condition on my scalp called dissecting folliculitis. It is a painful condition that manifests itself as fluid-filled cysts that were dispersed all over my scalp.

The fluid would build up beneath the skin and cause pressure. The only relief came from performing a self-surgery, so to speak — by sticking a straight pin in them and releasing the fluid. If that didn’t work, I had to schedule emergency appointments to the dermatologist to have them excised.

All my pillowcases became stained with the blood and yellowish fluid that would leak out. I even had to adjust how to rest my head when I slept because gravity would exacerbate the pressure of the fluid inside and cause pain I could barely tolerate.

What’s more, the raised cysts were visibly apparent because the hair would fall out where they were located. And even worse, the cysts left scar tissue that left the scalp lumpy even after they healed. Cortisone shots were needed in an effort to reduce the scar tissue.

The most effective treatment… the only thing that caused the condition to be controlled was a drug called Accutane, which caused extreme severe drying and chapping of the lips. Needless to say, having hairless lumps on my head, often with scabs, combined with dry, whitish lips made me a sight to behold. Not to mention the humiliation that my appearance engendered within me.

I’m forever grateful to the heavens that I had family and friends, and even a few partners, who loved me and appreciated me beyond how my illness disfigured me to varying degrees of severity over those five or six years.

Eventually, the condition subsided due to the medical treatment I was blessed with by having good jobs and thus good medical insurance. Now it has been in remission for more than ten years. It took years for all the hair to return fully to my scalp, but I can say now that I have no more hairless areas.

I look back on that time now and wonder how I endured that ordeal. But so far in life, I have been adept at dealing with painful things while I must, and then casting them out of my mind afterwards. Once I’m free from the pain, I do my best to eschew the post-traumatic stress that could come later.

But in this case, the effects of the trauma lingered on in one specific way. I viewed my head as something that was sensitive… and that I should not mess with it in any way. Yes, I would just have to deal with the balding-ness. Yes, I would just have to deal with the gray. I postulated that I could not risk putting any chemicals on my scalp because it could possibly bring the condition back… because I had no idea what caused it in the first place.

And to a large extent, that was a prudent decision. But probably only for a while. At some point I could have made the mental transition to accept that I could take risks with my scalp again. I imagine it’s like when someone ends a romantic relationship and they have difficulty determining when they can take a risk and fall in love again.

Robin Roberts penned a book called “Everybody’s Got Something”. The title was based on something that her mother always told her. I love that phrase because it’s folksy and undeniably true. Although the particular ‘something’ may be different for different individuals, the emotional effects of trauma can be parallel in terms of having trepidation about fully releasing yourself from your old pain and fear.

Due to the balding, the lumpy scalp, and the gray, I decided to cut my hair bald for a long time.

The first step in my emotional recovery was growing my hair back. I decided I hated being bald. I just don’t like it on me. I like having hair. I stopped cutting my hair bald about three years ago. I solved the balding problem because I now leave the hair long on top and I cut and blend the sides, so it deceptively, but successfully conceals the fact that the hair on top grows at a slower rate than the sides. But the unfortunate part was that I was now about 50% gray.

At first I tried to convince myself that I had no problem with the gray and that it made me look “older-man sexy”. But I only convinced myself of that because I emotionally needed to. After all, I could not risk putting chemicals in my hair, right?

But I was wrong. I can take a risk and start dyeing my hair. I can indeed “ditch the gray”!

So that’s what I did last month. For some odd reason, after all the photographs I had taken with glaringly gray hair, that one selfie with my trainer was the final straw.

I’m not sure yet if letting the gray go has changed my life on the outside, but it has surely changed my life on the inside. I used to stress about donning a hat or cap every time I went into public, except for the times when I just threw caution to the wind and said, “F*%* it, I don’t care what people think about my hair today!”

Now I take off my hat and I feel no embarrassment at all. Maybe no one cared either way, but I am no longer self-conscious. I’m no longer a spring chicken, but I feel years younger. Just because I am in the middle-aged pool doesn’t mean I have dive into it head-first (pun intended).

These are the lessons I learned:

1) Don’t hang on too long to an old mindset that’s outdated.

You only have a finite amount of time here. Don’t let old trauma cause you to waste years accepting situations that you don’t have to.

2) Always believe that you can do better.

Endeavor to find new ways to improve your life experience. (No, this doesn’t apply to relationships!… (unless it does). I’m not advocating upgrading your partners every few months!)

3) Dig deep.

Look into your inner self and figure out what changes you can make that will personally make you happy, not what you think should make you happy.

For others, embracing the gray makes them happy. Even though I thought I was fine with it, I dug deep, and I determined that it was not for me.

Now in my late forties, I am free from the disease, …I am free from the balding-ness, …and I am free from the gray!

Self-liberation is wonderful thing!