The first time I stepped out of the house wearing a wig I pored over my wardrobe looking for an outfit that I would be confident and comfortable in, in a bid to counteract my churning stomach. My makeup took double the time: I reapplied every stroke to make sure my foundation was even and my eyeliner was perfect. As I began to slip the wig over my head, I began to slip back into my old life. A sense of relief flooded over me then subsided as nerves and insecurity took over. I sat for 10 minutes just staring into the mirror, trying to come to terms with the new “old” me.
Then I was off. At the local shopping centre I just blended in. I didn’t stand out. Kids didn’t point and comment. I was just me, and it was lovely. I pushed the stray strands of hair out of my eyes and behind my ear. I played and twisted it with my fingers – the mannerisms came back so quickly and naturally. With that gesture, I had a stark view of how far I’d come. Wearing a wig was to be “normal” again.
But my life is so different now to what it was just over 12 months ago. I have become accustomed to my new, no-hair look. And I love it. Just as much as I loved my hair. Now I have the best of both worlds.