Bald.

I loved my hair.

I still do.

It’s one of my physical features I feel the least insecure about and there’s some measure of pride there.

Sure it was difficult to maintain it, and to keep it in a state that I liked, but I think that was part of it.

I let it grew long and wild, and for as much as I interfered, it danced wildly with freedom.

I love my hair. I had to cut it all off.

Something I said in the past but need to be reminded of:

“This is the beginning of the building of the new self.”

Even what I love about myself can be destroyed and rebuilt. 

I am more than the things that make up me.

My hair will grow again, and so will I.