Lauren Aprahamian
“I was diagnosed with alopecia at the beginning of second grade, and at first I didn’t understand what it was. Monthly doctors’ appointments in New York City were physically and mentally draining. I didn’t understand nor did I enjoy getting injections in my scalp each time. After many discussions with my mother, I finally was able to grasp that it was an autoimmune disease that attacks my hair follicles. It was completely out of my control; and I decided that if I couldn’t cure my disease, that I should hide it. My headscarf was a piece of fabric that hid what I considered an ugly abnormality. My worst fear was exposing this physical difference.”
“I remember playing recreational softball because it was hard. When I would pull my helmet off, I was always nervous that someone would see underneath – what was hiding behind my headscarf. During my at bats, I would never enjoy the game. Instead, I dreaded what would come afterwards. I would exit the field and immediately hide behind a tree to readjust my headscarf when my helmet came off. When the inning ended and my teammates ran onto the field, I would lag behind as I continued fixing my unique accessory. In school, I was just as worried about others discovering my secret. During a routine headscarf touchup in the back of the classroom, one of my peers approached me, laughing, and asked, "why are you bald?" I was ashamed, and the experience drew on my greatest insecurity. I thought that when people looked at me, they only saw my headscarf; as a person, I was only my disease”
“My mom was the most supportive. We went to the Columbia University hospital that specialized in children’s autoimmune diseases. Each month, she pulled me out of school for the day and drove an hour to and from my appointments with me. On the way there, my anxiety would build up. I hated it especially because of the crowded New York City scene and chaotic nature of the appointments. But somehow, my mom’s ability to sing me songs and play games in the waiting rooms always calmed my nerves. In fact, she was the one who finally encouraged me to go to school without a headscarf. After one appointment, I walked into the car sobbing because of how badly my head hurt from the injections. She told me she fully supported me and that we would never have to go back to the doctor if I didn’t want to. We would let my disease take its course, and she would help me to embrace who I was. She was also my Girl Scout leader, so she always tried to incorporate hats if we were dressing up for a talent show or a parade or something similar. Actually, many of the adults in my life were accommodating. My best friend Ava’s mom went out of her way to buy pink wigs for our third grade talent show dance, I remember.”
“My alopecia gradually got better, and today my old headscarves sit in the back of my closet as a memory of a sad and distant past. In fact, I would say I feel most empowered today having overcome something so large at such a young age. Looking back, I realize that a small physical difference should never have had the ability to diminish my self-confidence and alter my perception of myself. The experience taught me that nothing should stand in my way of allowing me to play the game that brings me the most joy; I regret giving into my fears on the field instead of living in the moment. My opinion of second grade is clouded because I only remember that I hid my true self from others. Today when I face adversity in the softball world, I see it as a challenge rather than a setback. Overcoming my own fears on the field has taught me that I have the strength to overcome external pressures. Having to deal with something like Alopecia so publicly – despite my efforts to conceal it – makes me confident today. Too often I see my friends struggle with how to dress or how to act because they are fearful about others’ judgement. I feel like I am proof that none of that matters. I know moving forward it’s important to support my friends in what might seem like even the smallest of endeavors or insecurities because you never know when someone might need reassurance.”
