We often hear people casually joke about a “bad hair day.”
But for me, hair loss wasn’t just an inconvenience—it was something that shaped how I lived my life.
Every decision, every outing, and even moments with my daughter were clouded by the constant fear that someone might notice the bald patches I tried so hard to hide.
For years, hats became my armour. Windy days and rainy days were my enemy.
I skipped swimming with my little girl, Rosie, because the idea of people seeing my thinning hair plastered to my scalp filled me with dread.
Hair loss wasn’t just physical—it ate away at my confidence, my relationships, and even my sense of femininity.
Why Female Hair Loss Feels So Isolating
We talk a lot about men losing their hair, but for women, the silence is deafening.
The stigma around female hair loss is heavy—hair is tied so closely to our sense of identity and femininity that losing it can feel devastating.
I first began losing hair in my teens, triggered by stress.
It came and went for years, worsening after pregnancy and again when perimenopause arrived early for me.
Each time it thinned, it felt like part of my confidence disappeared with it.
I threw money at every so-called solution: vitamins, shampoos, sprays, powders, even hats with fake fringes sewn in. Nothing ever truly worked.
Stress and Struggles That Made It Worse
Looking back, my hair loss mirrored the turbulence in my life.
As a child, I lived with the stress of an alcoholic father, and my body reacted with eczema and even losing all my eyelashes.
By my teens, the lashes grew back but hair loss replaced them.
Doctors brushed it off as “hormonal,” leaving me to cope alone.
In my 30s, things spiraled again—Rosie was a newborn, I was a single mum, and the stress was unbearable.
My hair never recovered, no matter what anyone told me.
Then came heartbreak in 2018, when my mum’s partner Terry—like a father figure to me—died suddenly.
Just two years later, I entered early perimenopause at 36. Both grief and hormone changes triggered my worst bout of hair loss yet.
The Daily Battle to Look ‘Normal’
Every morning before work, I would spend over an hour pinning, clipping, and layering scarves and hairpieces just to feel presentable enough to step outside.
Up to 40 clips, plus powders, sprays, and a headscarf—it was exhausting.
I hated mirrors, I hated wasting money on “miracle” products, and I hated that doctors dismissed my pain as “cosmetic.”
I was spending over £1,500 a year on quick fixes that didn’t work.
Meanwhile, my daughter was growing up, and I didn’t want her to see her mum living in shame.
Finding the Courage to Try a Transplant
By 2022, I’d had enough. A specialist finally gave me answers: my follicles were dead, and only a hair transplant would work.
The idea was terrifying—not just the surgery, but also the £5,000 price tag and the fear it might not succeed.
But I had reached the point where I was willing to take the risk, not just for me, but for Rosie too.
The procedure lasted 11 hours, with 3,500 follicles moved from the back of my head to the front and sides.
I left swollen, bruised, and barely able to look at myself. Rosie, ever honest, said I looked like “a potato left in the cupboard.”
Watching the First Hairs Grow
Then came the long wait. A month later, I spotted the tiniest new hairs. Eight months in, I walked outside without a scarf.
A year later, I deliberately stepped into the rain with no hat, laughing like a child instead of hiding.
Now, 18 months on, I have a full head of thick, healthy hair.
For the first time in decades, I don’t have to check the mirror before I leave the house.
I even appeared on a YouTube series about hair, something I would never have dreamed of before.
Breaking the Silence Around Women’s Hair Loss
Hair transplants are often associated with men like Wayne Rooney, but they can be life-changing for women too.
In fact, an estimated 33% of women will experience hair loss at some point, yet we make up only a fraction of transplant patients.
At 42, I finally feel confident enough to share my story. If telling it makes even one woman feel less alone, then it’s worth it.
My transplant didn’t just give me back my hair—it gave me back dignity, joy, and the freedom to live without shame.
And this time, if I ever lose my hair again, I won’t hide away.
