If you've read my blog posts here you know that I've asked myself that question, too, and the response from the universe was: "It's gone.  And it's never coming back." 

Where's my hair? is a question many African American women have asked themselves after years of relaxing, weaving, braiding, and all the other techniques we've used to rock an amazing 'do. But it appears that we're not the only ones suffering from some form of hair loss.

Kristin Davis who played the beloved Charlotte York Goldenblatt on HBO's Sex and the City shares her personal story about hair loss.

Shame has no favorites.  She visits most of us for one cause or another.  Sometimes those reasons can be from a traumatic experience such as molestation or rape.  Other times, the reasons can stem from less devastating but equally emotionally taxing causes such as weight or financial struggles. My own experience with shame started as a child when boys teased me in elementary school because of my difficult-to-manage coarse hair.  Through the years I covered the shame I had for my natural hair with chemicals and wigs and weaves.  Anything to hide what lay beneath.
 
It was not until I had a stint with alopecia that my shame morphed into freedom.  The worst that could have happened to me happened – I lost some of my hair.  And guess what?  I didn’t die.  Hell, most people couldn’t even tell.  But I knew that I was missing hair and that experience proved to be a wake-up call for me.  I’m kinky and proud.  And now I wear it out loud.
 
Oftentimes, when we think of hair and the shame that some of us may have experienced due to teasing or lack of representation in the media -- natural hair may be the craze now but I’m sure most of my 4C sisters know that’s not how it’s always been – we tend to think of black women.   So imagine the collective pause taken when 47-year old, Caucasian sports announcer Joe Buck admitted in his memoir that he felt shame…about his hair.  Let’s take a step back.  As reported by The New York Daily News, in 2011, the announcer said he suffered a paralyzed vocal chord because of a virus.   By his own admission, the virus was a lie; an embellishment he used to hide the truth.  Joe Buck became a hair plug addict after he began losing his silky strands at the age of 24.   Why did he lie?  Because the truth was far too humiliating to admit.
 
While our attachment to hair can be easily dismissed as vanity, Joe Buck’s admission is yet another example of the deep emotional connection we have with our hair.  For some of us, it is nothing more than an appendage to chop off, grow, color, or accessorize.  For others of us, it is (or was) a source of humiliation, pain, and shame.
 
And shame knows no color.
 
 

I care about my hair.  Honestly, I do.  At one point in my life I was obsessed with wearing the perfect hairstyle. After I'd worn pretty much all of them, I discovered there was no perfect hairstyle.  Eventually, I discovered the bald spot from hell. (Or heaven depending on how you choose to look at it.)

Click here to read my story published on MadameNoire.com and the hair recovery gameplan that's got me aching for a pair of scissors!   Peep the video after the jump.

I don't see hairstyles the same way I used to. Ever since my dermatologist told me I have cicatricial alopecia, I respond differently to various styles. Recently, I was watching the BET awards. Gabrielle Union looked stunning (as usual) in a one-shoulder, scarlet and silver dress paired with strappy sandals. But it wasn't her attire that held my attention--it was her hair. Gabrielle wore a braid style: two-strand twists so long they could've grazed her navel. They were as flawless as she looked. A long time ago (okay, fine, last month) I would've thought, "Yep, totally gonna rock that look this summer." But not anymore. Now I pause and wonder, "What would my fine hair and fragile hair follicles think of that style?"

I had joined the natural hair crusade.  I was on the bandwagon and commiserating with others on the same journey about the struggle to maintain two completely different hair textures--relaxed and natural.  I was hanging in there with all the other natural-hair transitioners whose videos I'd watched on YouTube.  With them, I counted steadily:  six months relaxer-free, eight months relaxer-free, and so on.  I was down with the cause!  And then, one day, I wasn't.   My conviction was as pliant as a weft of the finest Indian Remy.

I became frustrated with my coarse, unwieldy hair.  I had an important event coming up (okay, fine, it was Beyoncé's The Formation Tour) and wanted to look my best, but I couldn't get an immediate appointment with my hairstylist.  So I called a different stylist who, as it turned out, could get me a relaxer that very same day.  A relaxer!  Soon, my fingers would be sliding though silky strands once more.  All of my convictions about harsh chemicals, burned scalp, and embracing my natural hair went out the same window as my two-strand twist jelly as visions of bouncy tresses swirled through my head.

I did it.  I got a relaxer.  My hair was far shorter than I thought it would be after nine months of new growth from transitioning, but hey, at least it was shiny and straight.  I sat in my car and admired myself.  And then I drove home.  I went into the bathroom, picked up a hand mirror, and then I saw it.  There, on top of my head, was an unmistakable bald spot...