“The root of suffering is attachment.” Buddha.
It’s cold being bald. Come summer, it might be fun to feel the cool breeze, dunk in the ocean whether it’s hair washing day or not, or take a ride in a convertible without hair whipping my face. For now, I’m cold. I never knew. I’m suddenly amazed at my bald friends who never complain.
My friends and family have me covered, thankfully. Cute hats. Lovely scarves. A halo wig (with my old hair, pictured above). I have options. Experienced friends explained gently but thoroughly what would happen. They kept me company, virtually, as the hair was going, going, gone. They sent me pictures of their beautiful bald heads and told me how to see the upside (the chemo is working, killing the fastest-growing cells…like cancer). That’s good because it was also very, very sad to lose my hair. I was quite attached to it. Literally and emotionally.
Losing my hair has been a relatively fast but stepwise process.
- Step 0 – long, wild, rebellious hair I planned to wear into old age. Thanks to Shelby Hersh for years of wearing pleasure and indulging yet moderating my Chaldean desire for flashy blond highlights.
- Step 1 – “the pixie” – cutting enough to make the halo wig. Thanks again, dear Shelby, for making a hard thing easier and more stylish.
- Step 2 – “the badass buzz cut” – sheltering in place, John “MacGyver” LeMay consulted Shelby by phone, fired up the beard shaver (because that’s how he rolls now), and took care of this business himself. Not bad.
- Step 3 – “the cue ball” – If you’ve been through chemo, you know the hair comes out in bunches in the shower, even when it’s short. It’s crazy. I had a LOT of hair. Then, even when it’s short, it sheds onto your collar, making you itch as if you’ve just had a haircut without the cape…all day long. So, it becomes easier to proactively part ways with the hair that’s left, even though it’s difficult. I’ll be honest. There were tears. I’m only human. I got halfway through shaving my head before I realized I couldn’t do the back. Nothing about it was pretty. Enter MacGyver again, who helped clean up the mess, aesthetically and emotionally.
I’ve been lucky to feel surprisingly good in chemotherapy…so far. But being bald makes my status as a “cancer patient” unmistakable, to me. This adventure was not in my plan. I’ll adjust to the person who stares at me from the mirror now, but it’s going to take a minute. The hair is a metaphor for all of the losses somehow:
- How I thought I would look
- How I thought I would spend time
- How I thought I could manage health…and avoid hospitals, hopefully forever
As a yoga teacher, I know that attachment is the problem. The solution is not to lament the losses but to learn to live beyond them. The work is to lose the attachment, as I lose the hair. My Health Journeys app tells me about the gifts of cancer (and when Belleruth Naparstek says such wise things in that melodic and soothing voice, you believe her!). Cancer teaches you to slow down and realize what’s important. In the big scheme of things, hair is not.
Humans get attached though, and I’m no different. I’m trying to lean into this opportunity to practice non-attachment, in a real, raw, and very personal way. It’s a special kind of yogi boot camp. I fail a lot. In between seeking enlightenment, I rail against the physical and emotional toxicity making so many of us sick. I feel sad the cold cap program was discontinued because of a pandemic. Then, I realize losing my hair is just part of the deal. It’s a chance to empathize with what too many people go through these days. The widespread fellowship I’ve received is both heartbreaking and beautiful.
And you know what? Practicing non-attachment is also freeing. Here are some things cancer is helping me shed that I won’t miss: pleasing anyone else, focusing too much on the future vs the present, the illusion of control, and more. Letting go of all of these things opens the way for noticing more beauty, feeling more peace, and experiencing profound love and joy. Letting go makes room for presence and empathy.
As we say in yoga, it’s a practice.
So, I do.
I’ll just keep my hat on for a while.
It’s warmer that way.
***
Halo wigs can be made via https://chemodiva.com/. Thanks to Steve Acho for telling me about them.
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Thank you for this beautiful reflection, Jackie. You’re truly an inspiration! I hope you’re feeling the effects of the prayers and good wishes that are coming your way. You’re clearly surrounded by love!
I do feel it, Denise, including in this note from you. Thank you for taking the time to read and comment. It means a lot. I hope you and yours are safe and well…and that you’ll get to continue that amazing trip around the world another time!
Sending blessings for healing, acceptance and love
Namaste
OOOOOMMMMM
Namaste!
Jackie, After my mom’s cancer journey I remember going back to visit her in Missouri. I said “We really should go visit xxxx.” She retorted, “I am no longer doing ‘shoulds,’ I am only doing what I want to do and who I want to see.” Then finished with, “Besides, I am always the one going to see xxxx and it xxx wants to see me, then it’s xxx’s time to make the effort!” I was shocked to hear my mom say that but also proud that she had put up her own boundaries for the life she wanted moving forward. It has been a lesson that has remained with me. One of many lessons and legacies that she has left for me! Love, Lee Ann
Lee Ann – Such a good one! I can relate. Very much. Thanks for sharing. Xo
Jackie, you continue to amaze and inspire me. You can put into words such emotions that we are feeling and learning with you. I am so sorry you are the teacher in this classroom, however, know that we are here to listen and support in any way we can. Please know you are in our thoughts and prayers more than you know. We are sending our love to help you fight and heal, fight and heal. Your locks were beautiful, but I am confident they shall be again. Keep up the fight….and the faith. Love you so!
Love YOU so! Not everyone hits the jackpot with their husband’s friends, but I sure did. Can’t wait to see you when things get more normal again. I’m thinkin’ beach…..xoxoxo
Thanks for writing this, Jackie. Losing the attachment – still learning daily. I begin again, again. ♥️ Hugs from afar.
Wonderful to hear from you, Pam. Thanks for taking the time to read and comment. Your encouragement means so much. Hugs back to you!
Beautiful, inspiring and brave insights. Thank you so much, Jackie.
Feeling well makes all the difference in my days and my writing. YOU are a big part of why I feel well, Michelle. Your nutritional/supplemental advice is a lifesaver, literally. Thank you!
Hi Jackie. I couldn’t sleep last night, so I picked up the iPad at 2 a.m. and came across your Facebook post that led me here. And I have been searching for words all day. All I can say right now is “thank you,” – for sharing, for making me think, for getting me to stop and appreciate the love that is all around. I am so glad for the circles of love around you. -Klaas
Aw, Klaas, it’s so good to hear from you. Thank you so much for taking the time to read and comment. Yes, I’m lucky…to feel well, to feel loved, to be surrounded, including by your words. It’s hard to imagine going through something like this alone. FB isn’t always a generative place, but for keeping us in touch across time and space…it does the job. I hope you and yours are safe and well.
Hello Jackie,
I am so happy I met you. You have always been inspiring. Thanks for the good words. You give a lot of food for thought. 🥰
I am glad I met you too Carmen! 😘🙏
Jackie, I love this post. I do not love your agony, but the way you’re showing readers what there is to be learned is something that benefits us all. It’s alright to miss your hair. And I’m giving you permission to long for the time when it grows back. Recently, my twin sister and I were comparing the graying patterns of the hair on our heads. Not surprisingly, hers is graying exactly like mine. Graying at the roots in spots around the front of our heads, around our faces, at the part, totally gray eyebrows, and not a speck of gray in back. I called the graying process “one of the meanest jokes nature plays on us as we age.How is it, our hair goes gray in front first, not in back? At least, in back, I wouldn’t have to see it. At best,not seeing it would free me from the dreaded monthly maintenance in a salon every month, not to mention, watching the color fade within days of the process after every sunny day spent in the garden or swimming In the pool next door.” My sister’s response made me laugh. She said, “You don’t like the gray in front? Walk backwards.” Not exactly empathetic but a zinger of a reminder; it’s ok to feel a loss, acknowledge the feeling, and be patient. It’s just a feeling. Feelings change. It’s going to be alright. I love you and keep you in mind always.
Dear Rique, I’m just seeing your wonderfully empathetic and encouraging comment on this post. It’s classic you. I love it all and love you too. It’s hard but so helpful to remember that feelings change. Even since I wrote the post, there has been some acceptance of the hair loss, appreciation of low maintenance in a pandemic, and fun with beautiful scarves. My “hair” can be as long as I want…and I love to wear the scarves long and flowing 🙂 it’s at times like these, I’m grateful for any accessible stores of resilience tucked in there with the help of loving and empathic adults when I was growing up…and early childhood educators like YOU at Hanna Perkins, who helped me remember when our kids were little. Such a gift. I hope you and yours are safe and well. Many thanks to Jim for his inspiring work with Sophie too!
Jackie
When I did WIT, I had to shave my head. I tool a breast cancer fired with me, for moral support, as she had warned me that even tho’ I didn’t have cancer, it wood be traumatic. She was right. I took one look at me and my knees gave way. She caught me, You have many many friends who are ready and willing to catch you. I would be one of them. You have such courage and resilience and I can’t wait to see you on your return to Cleveland with all your hair coming gloriously back!
Thank you so much, Cathy! Miss you xo
Jackie
You are a beautiful creature of the Divine with hair or without. Your inner beauty and dignity shines brightly! Thanks for your writing and thoughts that help all of us. You are loved!!!
Fr. Brian
❤️🙏❤️🙏
Jackie, thank you so much for sharing this with us. You seem to have an amazing ability to find light in the darkness. ❤️We are all sending our prayers of healing to you. XO
Xoxo
Here’s to LETTING GO! And to your beautiful head. And you’re right: no placed better in the world to find beautiful scarves than Istanbul. We’re thinking of you an John as we move through the solstice this week. Can’t wait to move out of the dark and into the light starting next week. May it be a miraculous time for you! XOXO
🙏
Jackie- thank you for your beautiful writing, your reflections on life and loss, and your courage. I know this time period must be exceptionally challenging. Your candor, brilliance, grace and sense of humor continue to inspire us all, as you always have.
😘🙏❤️
I am sitting in grey CLE and your beautiful and powerful writing just literally lit me up!! You have a real gift. I’m in awe. I hope profoundly sharing your emotions and insights is contributing greatly to your healing. It is to mine. XO
Thank you so much, Cherie ❤️
I see you, I understand you. The most disliked moment was to lose hair, I was willing to work with everything else too. I have held on to my hair ever since. But your lessons in life..the things that you won’t miss and the things that you found when you let others go, that is “enlightenment”. The beginning and never-ending beautiful path of life.
Thank you, Rohini. Namaste!
Thanks, Jackie, for this inspiring reminder to slow down and see the big picture. As one of your biggest (and baldest) fans, I wish you more health and healing, more peace and comfort, more joy and gladness, and long life. Stay strong and Stay warm!
Thank you so much, Irwin! Wonderful to hear from you