13980 Guidera Drive

Rancho Cucamonga, CA 91739



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Share Your Story

If you are comfortable, please share your story with us. We want to connect with you, and help you connect with others who are going through this journey. There is power in YOUR story, and there is HEALING in sharing it!


Some ideas to get you started: What caused your hair loss?  How long have you been experiencing hair loss? What has been your biggest challenge?  What has been your biggest victory? What advice would you give others? What is your favorite hair piece?

Let’s raise awareness, create understanding, and encourage others going through the same thing!

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Jun 28

Jo's Story



I started to lose my hair in my twenties. I don’t remember exactly when because it’s not something you notice for a while, but I know it was before I turned thirty that I realized that my already baby-fine blonde hair was looking a bit more sparse than usual on top. I asked my doctor about it, but let me tell you something doctors did not care about in the ‘80s was hair loss. The doctor did a thyroid test and when that came out okay it was just blamed on ‘genetics’. I’ve since realized that my hair loss is most likely due to the autoimmune disease that was diagnosed at age five. I tried Rogaine but it didn’t seem to do anything and it made my scalp red and itchy so I stopped. On to the ignoring stage! I was good at that.

It thinned a tiny bit more every year but still very slowly. I started lightening it to make it look thicker, and cut bangs that started further and further back on my head as the years went by. Anyone who has female hair loss knows what I mean—the lady combover. I told myself it would grow back and that it ‘wasn’t that bad’. And maybe it really wasn’t that bad.

Until finally, it was.

I think hair loss is something you can’t fully understand unless it happens to you. There’s something about having a balding head that makes you feel hideous, and nothing anyone says to you helps much. The most well-intentioned attempts at comforting you usually make you feel worse. You never feel pretty, not ever.

Even worse than the dismay you feel when you look in the mirror is the guilt you feel for being so dismayed. So much guilt. I think there are a lot of murderers who haven’t felt this level of guilt. How could you be so loathsome and self-centered? It’s not like you’d be any kind of beauty even if you did have a big old Texas-sized head of hair. Get a grip.

You’re not dying—it’s just hair. Your limbs are not missing or paralyzed—it’s just hair. Your brain is not malfunctioning, you haven’t lost your sight, your hearing, your power of speech—it’s just hair. You have not lost a loved one. Just hair. No biggie.

You find yourself in the horrifying position of being jealous of cancer patients because—if they make it—their hair will grow back. You hate yourself for this more than most people could imagine but you can’t help how you feel. You lecture yourself constantly to suck it up and stop being so shallow. Because. It. Is. Just. Hair.

That doesn’t work. It makes you feel worse.

So on to the poisoning phase. I tried the new, stronger Rogaine for women, which for me was like a rollercoaster that crashed into a wall. Hey look, tiny hairs are growing! Look at all those hairs, they’re an inch long! Wait, they’ve been an inch long for a couple of months now and they’re kind of…clear. And now the sides of my head are almost as bare as the top. Well, darn.

When I stopped the Rogaine even more hair fell out.

So I moved on to hats. I bought a little black bowler and it looked kind of cute with my skinny ponytail hanging out the back. Then I bought a couple of straw porkpies and a fedora. I liked the hats, but the problem is that you always have to be wearing a hat. This is not convenient.

I finally talked myself into going to a wig store. I wasn’t crazy about the idea of a wig because I remembered the wigs my mom wore in the 60s when she didn’t have time to get her hair done. They were like hair-helmets and when I had tried one on I looked like Davy Jones from the Monkees. I’m not going to write about my wig store experience here, I’ll just say it was slightly weird, but I came home almost five hundred bucks poorer with an ash-blonde wig that was a synthetic copy of the bob-with-bangs style I’d worn for years.

I hated it.

When I looked in the mirror I felt like I was auditioning for a low budget high school production of Grease. There was so much hair! When you’re used to looking at a head barely covered with puny strands of corn silk well, that’s going to happen. And it was uncomfortable. The wig cap wouldn’t stay on my head; I felt like it was always on the verge of popping off the top of my head and flying around the room like a deflating balloon. The wig slid up the back of my head and I was so self-conscious whenever I wore it. But I tried a wig grip and some hair clips and that worked a little better. I got a little more used to it. A little. I still wore the hats more than I wore the hair.

A few months later I stumbled on an online wig review. I watched it, then I watched about twelve more in a row. The hair looked so good on real people, I couldn’t believe it. I did some research and finally ordered myself an expensive (but still less than I’d paid at the wig store) 100 percent hand-tied wig, a lovely bob without bangs in a pretty, light blonde. And eventually I did something else that made me feel even better in my wigs— shaved off the little bit of stringy Gollum hair I had left. It’s hard to explain but it’s so much easier for me to see a bald head in the mirror than a balding head, and the wigs are so much more comfortable and secure. It was amazing to be able to put on that hair and feel…almost normal? To take a photo and see myself with a full head of hair. That hadn’t happened for close to thirty years. This wig was the first of many because when people say it gets addicting they’re not lying because it’s so much fun to be able to change your hair to suit your mood or your outfit. I even have a purple one now! And I’ve discovered the most supportive, wonderful bunch of ‘enablers’ on Instagram who make me laugh and make me feel normal and sometimes even make me feel beautiful. I wish I could hug every woman who is just starting this journey and tell her how much better it can be, that she’s still beautiful and sexy and feminine, and most importantly that she’s not alone.

New Posts
  • I began to notice slight frontal hairline thinning when I was 18. I bought a can of spray-on color meant to cover thin spots where the scalp showed through. It was horrible, like spray paint. Throughout my 20s the thinning got no worse, and I managed with mousse, teasing, and hairspray. In my early 30s it thinned some more, right in the center front along my hairline, which was quite noticeable. I still managed to handle it but always had to part my hair on the side, mousse it, tease it, spray it with hairspray and hope it held up. By my mid-thirties, it was getting harder to conceal the enlarging bald spot on my center front forehead hairline. I tried little pull-through wiglets, but they were fake-looking and the wind would make them move. That's when I got fed up and realized I needed to try a wig in 1999. I found an online wig store and I got lucky when I ordered a Noriko wig with what they then called a "skin top". It was a cute blunt bob with bangs and a center part which looked like natural scalp. It was awesome on me. I wore it to work every day. My own hair was short, and full everywhere except where I most wanted it, right up near my forehead center of the head. I wore wigs off & on as I fussed with my hair throughout my 40s. I thought I had PCOS because I had most of the symptoms. But my doctor ruled it out, and it turned out I had low thyroid and I began meds to treat that. But, my hair never grew back near my forehead, and without anything to help it, there was a bright, shiny bald area there. I have lived with severe stress all of my life, including clinical depression, anxiety attacks, and some symptoms of PTSD from trauma. While therapy and meds have helped me, my hair is rapidly thinning, now also on the sides and the crown. The hair I've lost is not growing back. The loss is worsening. I've studied hair loss patterns on the Internet, comparing my hair loss to pictures and reading articles. I have "self-diagnosed" myself with female pattern hair loss, which is more common than most folk realize. I expect my hair loss to worsen during my lifetime. Many years ago, I tried Rogaine, but it failed me. I used Toppick and other products to "fill in" the hair loss areas, but those powdery fibers only color your scalp when there is no actual hair to blend in. So, that was another fail. I tried clip-in frontal wiglets, but when you have very thin or missing hair, there is nothing to clip-in! So, now in my 50s, I am resolved to wearing wigs all the time in public. I enjoy the convenience of wigs, and the variety of styles and colors. I used to only buy wigs in my natural hair color (dark brown), but I lost my timidity and concern for others' opinions about my changing hairstyles. My thoughts about my wig-wearing include: 1) it is nobody's business but my own, unless I choose to share the truth with them; 2) a good wig is costly, but I don't spend money on hairdressers, expensive "volumizer" products and other hair-care junk; 3) I can get ready now for church, work, or shopping in a flash since I don't fuss with my thinning hair anymore; 4) I can enjoy being curly, wavy, straight, off-the-face, bangs, blonde, silver, grey, brunette, browinsh-red....all because wigs give me the freedom to be the "character" I want to be on any given day; 5) wigs restored my sense of self-esteem, because let's not kid ourselves about embracing our natural femininity and desiring to feel good about ourselves. I resolved to not let hair loss destroy my right to be as lovely as I want to be. Lastly, I am now widowed about 5 years, but when my sweet husband was alive, he never said one unkind word to me about my hair loss or my wearing wigs. He loved me just as I was, hair or no hair, wig, or no wig. As it was, he suffered with a very bad cancer which made him completely hairless at one point. Someone at his job saw him with the "bald look" and said, "That bald style looks good on you." He told them it wasn't a choice but the chemo had made him bald. That is only one example of how some people in public can say the stupidest, hurtful things without knowing the full story. I share this with you all here, because you should never let anyone make you feel that hair loss of any kind, for any reason is your fault or that it makes you "less than". Wear your wigs proudly and feel like the beautiful woman you know you are inside and out.
  • In the mid 70’s my twin sister lost her hair over Christmas break our junior year of high school. I remember the looks she got from students as she wore a knitted beenie with a few strands of hair poking out. I worried, being her twin my hair would fall out too. We later found out she had alopecia. About 20 years later my dad lost his hair due to alopecia. I really started to worry. Life at this point in time had dealt me multiple health issues so I justified the fact that “God gave me these issues I don’t have to worry about hair loss!” Here it is about 20 years later my hair started falling out, which happens to be a side effect of one of my issues, lupus. I have had lupus since 2002 and never suffered hair loss. One day my husband looked in our bathroom trash and wanted to know where “the rat” came from, as he was looking at all my hair that had fallen out that day. Within a 2 month period my hair was quite thin. If I were to put my hair in a pony tail it was about the thickness of my baby finger. My hair is very sparse, evenly, if that makes sense. My daughter had shown me a post on FB of her friends step moms wig store. I thought, cool. My daughter didn’t know I was considering looking at wigs at that point. A week or so later I asked her for the name of the wig shop. I called Lori and we hit it off immediately. We have a lot in common. My twin, Lori died 2 years ago. Lori, of Lori’s lemonade stand, had a twin sister named Lisa, which is my name. Lori was surprised when my 2 daughters and grand daughter showed up to her house because when she saw my granddaughter she exclaimed, “I follow you on Twitter!” To my daughter! I am not sure the status of my hair loss and where this journey may take me however I have a new friend who is compassionate and is a hair angel! I love my wig! Lori’s lemonade stand was my first and only wig shop I went to. My wig looks real, feels real and the color is close to mine own. I have confidence again in my appearance thanks to Lori!
  • I first started losing my hair back in 2005. I was around 25 years old and in what I considered prime dating years. I cut myself off from everyone and everything. Gradually over the course of a few months it was all gone. Any patches that were left I shaved them off. One of my biggest challenges was letting go of the hair I had left, and letting my family and friends in on what I was going through. I suffered in silence for too long. I spent long days and nights crying and grieving over my loss. I thought people would make fun of me or just not understand. Once I decided to let others in things became a little easier. The more I talked about it, the more I wanted to talk about it. Pretty soon I would tell anyone who would listen, I found ways of bringing it up in conversation. I eventually found the National Alopecia Areata Foundation (NAAF) and signed up to become a support group leader for them. It was great talking to people locally and being able to help and support each other along the way. My advice to anyone going through hair loss is that it’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to feel upset, sad, or however you feel while going through it. It’s also important to talk about it. Find someone or people that you trust and let it out. Also know that hair is only a part of us. It is not who we are. Without it we can still thrive, have healthy friendships and relationships!

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