The Real Story Behind the Hair

Warning: This blog post contains details about pregnancy loss and may be difficult for some to read.

There are certain topics we, as women, don’t talk about enough—sometimes not at all. One of those is hair loss. It can happen for so many reasons, each carrying its own weight, yet we often suffer in silence. Today, I want to share my story, not just about losing my hair but about how it intertwined with some of the most painful moments of my life. It’s not easy to talk about. It makes me sad, and if I’m being honest, a little embarrassed. But if my experience can help even one person feel less alone, then it’s worth telling.

The Beginning of a Storm

In 2019, my world shattered. I was in a six-year relationship—one that, looking back now, I can see was anything but healthy. We were living between two cities: Portland, Oregon, where I was from, and Seattle, Washington, where he had landed a great job. The constant back-and-forth took a toll on me, but there was something else. Something deeper. Women have an incredible intuition, and for two years, I felt it in my gut—I just knew he was cheating. I had no solid proof, just that sinking feeling that wouldn’t go away.

Then, on Father’s Day, everything came to light. We had a massive fight, and as I sat crying on the stairs, I begged God for an answer. Within ten minutes, I got a text from a woman I had never met.

“Is this Veronika? Your boyfriend, Dee (not his real name), has had several sexual partners while dating you. He is living a double life.”

She went on with details—painful, gut-wrenching details—but in that moment, I had my answer. I wasn’t crazy. I was right. As much as I didn’t want to be, I was right.

But there was something else I hadn’t told anyone. I was pregnant.

A Crossroads with Nowhere to Go

To make things worse, my home in Portland had just sold. We had been house hunting together, planning a future—or at least, I thought we were. But at the last second, Dee backed out. He left me. He left us. And suddenly, I was pregnant, alone, and about to be homeless.

I had no choice but to find a place fast. I ended up in a townhome near where we had planned to buy—a much smaller place, but at least I had my mom close by. I knew I’d need her support now more than ever.

The Unthinkable Loss

Fast forward to early 2020. I was 30 weeks pregnant, and the world was just starting to whisper about COVID-19. My pregnancy had been tough—my baby girl, Rowan, wasn’t growing as she should have been, and her lungs were a major concern. The plan was to make it to 34 weeks for a C-section.

Then, at 32 weeks, I woke up in the middle of the night. When I stood up, a rush of brownish-red fluid spilled onto the floor. I knew something was terribly wrong.

I rushed to the hospital, but when I left, it was without Rowan.

I am a woman of faith, and I had to believe there was a reason for this pain, though at the time, I couldn’t see it. Dee came down when I lost the baby. For the first time, I saw him show emotion—real emotion. He cleaned up the mess I had left in my panic, tears in his eyes. It was the first and only time he ever truly took care of me. But then, in one last cruel twist, he also brought COVID with him. My body, already weak, got hit hard. Less than a week later, the world shut down, and I was left alone. Heartbroken.

The Silent Struggle

The COVID lockdown was both a blessing and a curse. It spared me from facing people, answering questions, and pretending I was okay. Most days, the only reason I even pulled myself together was for my daughter, Riley. She needed stability, routine—some sense of normalcy. So I smiled when I had to, cooked dinner like always, enjoyed movies together, just like before. I didn’t want her to see how much I was struggling.

She spent most of her time at the stables, which meant I was still alone—a lot. And being isolated with my grief? That was something else entirely. No one knew how dark my thoughts had become.

And then, my hair started falling out.

Losing More Than Just Hair

Hair has always been my thing. My best feature. As a child, it was platinum blonde, long, and full. Even as it darkened in my 20s, it remained thick and beautiful. I took pride in it, and people always complimented me on it. But two months after losing Rowan, after finally recovering from COVID, I started noticing something terrifying—my hair was breaking off in chunks.

At first, I thought it was just postpartum shedding. But between the pregnancy, the loss, the stress of Dee’s betrayal, the virus, and the small tumor in my kidney, my body had reached its breaking point. A specialist diagnosed me with telogen effluvium—a condition where hair follicles go dormant due to extreme stress and trauma.

By September 2020, five months after losing Rowan, I had lost nearly 20% of my hair. It had become so fragile that it was breaking at mid-length, leaving me with uneven patches. Every time I looked in the mirror, I felt like I was losing another part of myself.

Finding a Way Back to Myself

I knew I had to do something. I started researching solutions, desperate to feel like me again. That’s when I discovered hand-tied, sewn-in hair extensions. My doctor was skeptical, worried they might cause more harm, but at that point, what did I have to lose? My hair was already falling out.

In November 2020, I got my first set of extensions. I told the stylist, “I just want what I had before, so no one notices.” And she delivered. For the first time in months, I looked in the mirror and saw a glimpse of the old me.

Then, two months later, I got Copper—my dog, my unexpected healer. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he would be a huge part of my recovery. He became my reason to get out of bed, my source of unconditional love. He was, and still is, my baby in every way that matters.

Healing and Moving Forward

By August 2021, Dee was completely out of my life. That’s when my real healing began.

Now, five years later, I still wear extensions—only now, they’re even longer. At some point, I embraced the fun of it. If I couldn’t have my natural hair back the way it was, why not have mermaid hair? But every time I see my natural hair at appointments, it still stings. It’s half as thick as it used to be, and I don’t know if it will ever fully come back.

But I have hope.

I want to be clear: hair extensions weren’t the magic fix. They helped me feel like myself again, but true healing came from within—through therapy, through faith, through time. This chapter of my life has finally closed, and I’m stepping into a new one, full of hope and new possibilities.

If my story resonates with you, if you’ve experienced loss, betrayal, or struggles with hair loss, know that you’re not alone. I am always here for anyone who needs to talk. You are stronger than you know. And you will find your way back to yourself, too.