How I regrew my confidence after losing my hair

The writer began to make 'real changes' to her life. Dana Alomar / The National

I didn’t realise how much my identity was tied to my hair until it started falling out. What began as a few extra strands on my brush became something I couldn’t ignore by the end of 2024.

I knew, logically, that hair reflects the body’s stress with a delay, but that didn’t make it any easier to watch mine thin day by day. I felt sad, ashamed and quietly panicked.

Growing up Syrian, thick hair was a kind of cultural inheritance – something women were proud of. My mother had hair that turned heads: long dark and impossibly full. I spent years trying to emulate that look.

My hair is naturally pin-straight and fine, so I curled it, blow-dried it, layered it … I never left the house without doing something to it. Clean, flat hair? That was for staying home.

So when the shedding began, it felt like something deeper than aesthetics was falling away. It wasn’t just about losing hair. It was about losing a piece of how I saw myself and how I thought the world saw me.

So when the shedding began, it felt like something deeper than aesthetics was falling away. Getty Images

Looking back, it makes sense. I was working intensely, seeing no one and consumed with fixing how I looked rather than how I felt. I lost weight rapidly, withdrew from my partner and friends, and obsessed over controlling my body. I’d been spiralling for months before my hair started falling out and the shedding felt like my body’s final alarm.

Hair loss isn’t just a cosmetic problem. It chips away at your mental health. It adds another layer of anxiety to your reflection. Every time I brushed my hair or stepped into the shower, I felt like I was failing. But this wasn’t about vanity, it was about visibility. I was struggling quietly and my hair was the first thing to say that out loud.

Of course, it wasn’t just the stress and weight loss that caused it. The water didn't help. What I didn’t realise until it started falling out was that fixing my hair wasn’t about products. It was about rebuilding the way I lived.

I didn’t realise fixing my hair wasn’t just about products, it was about rebuilding the way I lived. Getty Images

So around the same time that I noticed the worst of the shedding, I began to make real changes – not to my beauty routine, but to my mental health. I started saying yes again to coffee with friends, to visits with family, to quiet days with no agenda. I stopped avoiding food and started repairing my relationship with it. I moved slower. I breathed more.

No serum will ever replace that shift, and I say that as someone who loves a good product. That said, some things did help. I tried the usual suspects – hair loss shampoos, scalp drops and all the shiny solutions with big claims. Most of them disappointed me. But hair oiling, a ritual my mother swore by, grounded me. It didn’t just nourish my scalp, it reminded me to slow down and care for something gently.

The biggest physical change, though, came when I swapped my shower head for a filtered one. A few friends recommended it, and I learnt that the founder, Karlee, had created the brand after experiencing the same issues when she moved to the GCC.

That felt personal. For the first time, I felt like someone understood what unfiltered water in some cities can do to your hair and skin. Within days, my hair was less frizzy. Within weeks, I wasn’t pulling strands out by the handful. That shift gave me momentum.

I added a spoonful of collagen to my daily routine. I took my supplements every morning. I made sure I was getting more iron and protein. I also let go of some harmful myths: not washing your hair every day will save it, and skipping conditioner prevents shedding.

On the days when my hair doesn’t cooperate, I slick it back and move on. Dana Alomar / The National

Clean, hydrated hair is healthier. It took time, about three or four months, before I saw real change. Even now, I have moments of doubt. I still want thick, long hair. I still consider if I should get extensions. I still have stubborn days. But I also have something I didn’t have before: perspective.

On the days when my hair doesn’t co-operate, I slick it back and move on. I’ve realised that healing doesn’t just show up in new hair growth, it shows up in how you talk to yourself when things aren’t perfect. It shows up in being kinder to your body, in eating without guilt, in being able to leave the house without checking every angle.

If you’re struggling with hair loss, here’s what I want to say: it’s not superficial to care; it’s not silly to grieve it; and it’s not hopeless. Hair grows back slowly – but confidence grows back too. Be patient with both.