Thank you! Thank you for being here now, and to the people who read the last post, thank you for your warm support. I would like to explain why I shared my message the way I did, and put forward a few thoughts on the barriers people face when trying to redefine their own identities.
In my last post I told the story of my giving up on looking a certain way and losing my hair. We all lose things, and we all sometimes give up. It is unbelievably easy to immediately give those situations a negative connotation: to understand the world around us, to categorize the scenario. We need to tell ourselves a story about what giving up means, and about the horrific consequences of loss.
If I had started the last post saying: “I gave up and lost something,” you would have reacted differently. Maybe you would have given me your sympathy, something I do not seek, or something that would have sounded like condolences for hair loss. It sounds absurd, doesn’t it?
Strangely, that is what most of us do when others share stories of loss. It is considered normal and acceptable. I was afraid of pity and of being consoled, not by heartless human beings, but by well-meaning people. I was afraid I would be told I am worthy of love DESPITE my imperfections. It sounds reassuring, yet it is patronizing and leaves me feeling hopeless and weak.
Hence, I could not find the words to share my story for months, until I wrote the poem that you will find below. Analyzing the impact of my new look, helped me shape the way I see my life and experiences. I found a way to show my pain without eliciting the words and behaviors I compelled myself to avoid at all costs. Except, I realized, I used to be that “well-meaning” person I was afraid of, when others shared stories until not long ago.
The poem is a representation of a two-year transition: a shift in perspective, values and core believes. I was able to share my story because it had already reframed itself: it had turned giving up into immense relief, and loss into acceptance.
It took me a while to realize that shame was not the only barrier to sharing a story with others. As you can imagine, shame had a pretty tight grip on me, and did not want me to share my thoughts with anyone, much less pictures of what I looked like. Shame loses power when what causes it is named. I needed to name hair loss as the generator of fear, insecurity and shame to loosen up their control over me.
The other barrier was that I wanted empathy as a response, not just for my own consumption, but for all the people who found the story relatable. For me this meant not only acknowledging the presence of pain, but also highlighting the uplifting experience of walking down the street as you are, without fear or shame. A validation of our feelings and a defiant message: I am fine as I am.
When describing a painful process, focusing on its universality and on empowering outcomes can spare you the pity and reassurances. Speaking up and showing courage are, in other words, essential to getting the desired response. Giving a message in an empowering way makes you feel empowered by the feedback.
That is exactly why the title was : unapologetically bald. Do not ask me to shy away from a word that embodies loss, ugliness (in women) and, in some cases, even sickness. That word will hopefully protect me from the word “beautiful”, which is used in such disempowering ways, I do not want to hear it anymore.
Apologize if you have made a mistake.
My fine and thinning hair is not a mistake, therefore I shall walk on the street chin up and back straight. There are so many struggles worth taking up to the end of your days: pleasing others by improving your looks isn’t one.
The next step is to offer the same level of empathy I received to people who talk about loss and feeling shame. I think there is a real need for conversations on how dismissive or pitiful we can be to protect ourselves. Feeling empathy means feeling someone’s pain and validating their feelings. It means saying, “Yes, it is painful, and I am here for you.” We are all guilty of reassuring people without validating their feelings, or even worse, telling them how they should feel or act (“Stop crying,” “Smile,” “Don’t worry,” etc.)
I say that it is more daring and brave to listen and show support. I say daring to be bald means daring to be bold, which to me translates into being caring and vulnerable. I allowed myself to be vulnerable on a stage when I performed this poem wearing a wig, knowing most people did not know or suspect my semi baldness. A place where many other performers did it before me. They created the space I used to connect with the audience.
When people smile and listen attentively, I truly feel free to be vulnerable. It is not a careless risk or attention seeking, as it is natural to want to be seen. If you don’t feel ready yourself, showing support for the people who are can create a safe environment for many.
Here it is. Wishing you many empathic responses to your moments of vulnerability.
Love,
Dare to be b@ld
Photo taken by Roger Arruda
Lost
I lost pretty and cut it.
I lost all the womanhood that was in my hair.
Cut it, and cut it again, shaved it all.
I lost the opportunity of being wanted and chased.
I lost all the sexy power of my strands.
Or at least that is what I thought I would lose,
and then reconsidered gains and losses.
It was falling like heavy rain, that shows up one day
and causes a flood.
The day you realize it has been raining and you can’t stop it.
And, yes. I have
tried emergency plans devised by doctors
who sold me causes not solutions,
bought dreams and potions,
paid in hope and tears until I could,
then understood the bleeding led nowhere.
I lost the fear of waiting forever…
it will grow full again,
that means spending more time waiting for change.
I lost the fear of not seeing that day,
deciding to throw away plans to change things set in stone.
When you can’t sink, can’t reach that low point…you go up.
The knots tied in your stomach unravel, words melt, chins rise.
Elevator feeling, dizzy and relieved…you’re going up!
Oh, the relief of leaving the ground floor with a precipice
made for people who disobey the definition of beauty capitalism sold us!
It was made for the lost, unsatisfied, yet, of course, unsuccessful.
For the rebels, the deserters, and defenders there is a way up,
for the resilient, one day, a way out.
Found
I found the shape of a hairline I saw and didn’t see for years.
I found the beauty of a hairless head with moles I didn’t know I had.
I found a cool and crazy fact: I had never had less hair on my head,
when I was born I had a black strand on my head, yes, black,
my hair likes to surprise people…
I found the kind subversive fun I was looking for:
playing with wigs and styles.
I found new horizons for my femininity, or sometimes lack of thereof,
with a lightness never allowed by my long hair.
I found more beauty in defiance than in blonde hair,
it is a slow and quiet dance when you just drop the mask and smile.
I’ll dance as boldly as I can as a bald woman
and let my scalp shine.
Defying expectations, deceiving the senses, hijacking stereotypes!
And if you think you have been lied to,
all the stuff you have worn in a lifetime might haunt you,
to remind you of all the things you wanted others to see,
that simply weren’t there.
As I lost my hair I gained a fake,
one that could make everyone believe me “normal”,
wiped away a conversation piece,
not reality.
My voice now needs to tell you what your eyes can’t,
my voice needs to tell you your eyes can tell very little,
and see even less.
When you rely on them for compliment or judgment
the let down is like a seismic shift, rocks a world and leaves chaos.
Close your eyes (X2), to feel, weight desires, emotions.
Close your eyes and listen.
I do not need to change my genes anymore.
I found…peace.
Giulia
Dare to be b@ld 