Alo Together: Personal STories
I never expected to write these words: I have alopecia. - Ashley S.
I never expected to write these words: I have alopecia.
At first, it was a small patch. Just a spot I noticed in the mirror one morning, hidden behind a part in my hair. I brushed it off — stress, maybe? A bad batch of products? Life was busy, and there was always something else to think about. But then the patches grew. More hair in the shower drain. More in my brush. More on my pillow.
Eventually, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I saw a doctor. Then a specialist. And then came the diagnosis: alopecia areata.
I didn’t cry right away. I sat in the office and nodded, clutching the pamphlet like it was a life preserver. But when I got home and looked at myself in the mirror — really looked — it hit me. Hard.
Hair, for many of us, is tied to identity. Style, beauty, gender expression, even culture — it’s all wrapped up in those strands. Losing it felt like losing control. Like losing a part of myself I didn’t even realize I was clinging to.
But here’s the truth I’ve started to uncover, slowly, painfully, and honestly: alopecia is not the end. It’s a new beginning. There is power in facing something you didn’t choose and saying, “I’m still me.”
If you’re reading this and going through something similar, I see you. Whether you’re covering up, shaving it all off, rocking a wig, or letting the patches show — your journey is yours, and it is valid
Finding out I have alopecia as Man- William J.
Honestly, I didn’t think much about hair — until I started losing mine.
At first, it seemed like the usual male pattern baldness creeping in. No big deal. Hairlines recede. Barbers get quieter. It happens. But this was different. Sudden patches. Smooth, round spots that weren’t thinning — they were just… gone. I wasn’t shedding, I was disappearing.
Eventually, I went to a doctor, still half-convinced it was something temporary. Maybe stress, maybe something with my diet, or an allergic reaction. I walked out with a diagnosis I hadn’t expected: alopecia areata.
Alopecia. It sounded clinical, distant. But it hit personal and fast. I didn't have a family history. I wasn't sick. I didn’t feel like I “fit” the diagnosis. I didn’t even really understand what it meant — other than that my hair was falling out, and no one could tell me when (or if) it would grow back. I felt alone in the process. Today, I am learning to live with the support of communities like Alo Together.
Learning My Child Has Alopecia- Parents of Jamie K.
One evening during our bedtime routine, I was brushing my child’s hair when I noticed a small, smooth circle near the back of their head. I paused. Rubbed it gently with my fingers. “Maybe it’s just from the way they were lying down,” I told myself. “Nothing to worry about.”
But days later, there was another patch. Then another.
At first, we tried not to panic. Kids lose hair sometimes. Maybe it was stress, maybe a vitamin deficiency. We booked appointments. We asked questions. We waited for answers. And then, finally, we got one: alopecia areata.
Three words that shifted the ground beneath us.
As a parent, your instinct is to protect. To fix things. To comfort. But nothing prepared me for this — for the helplessness I felt watching my child try to understand what was happening to their own body, why their classmates might stare, why there’s no clear “cure.”
But here’s what I’ve learned — and what I’m still learning.
Alopecia doesn’t define my child. Yes, it’s a part of their journey now, but it doesn’t change who they are: curious, bright, creative, resilient. If anything, it’s revealing a kind of quiet strength I didn’t know they had.
To other parents walking this road: I see you. It’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to be scared. But know that you’re not alone, and neither is your child. There is strength in softness, power in support, and healing in community.