Menopausal Hair Loss – Crowning Glory to Stork’s Nest in Just One Year

Sigh…  It seems that every new day brings with it another lesson in humility.

My hair used to be rather splendid, if I do say so myself.  My daddy blessed me with a thick, glossy, and curly mane.  My crowning glory was, for most of my life, indifferent to and unbothered by hard water, cheap shampoos, exotic chemical treatments, and aggressive styling methods.  It remained defiantly curly, shiny, and abundant…perhaps too abundant, annoyingly abundant even, like weeds or South African potholes.

As the typical human condition often demands, I fought my curly mop tooth and nail for many years.  Without the benefit of Brazilian keratin treatments and a GHD straightener, I would be greeted by Mufasa in the bathroom mirror every morning.  Regrettably, as a younger and stupider woman,  I had been far too vain and far too concerned with the opinions of complete strangers (who likely gave naught a flaming duck about my hair), to ever have settled for the Mufasa mullet back then.

Frustratingly, just as I reached the age (and associated level of wisdom) where I couldn’t care less about the estimations of others, my tresses met some aggressive assailants and I learned about menopausal hair loss…against my will, I might add!

Meeting the Hair Loss Tag Team

I had just started experiencing the first, fluttering of menopausal heat waves (Is this a hot flush? Do I have a fever?  Have I been possessed?), signaling my descent into crone-hood.  I wasn’t even entirely convinced that these spontaneous internal flames were, in fact, hot flushes when BOOM!!  I was forcibly inducted into the Corona Crew!  Whilst it was, of course, utterly horrific to actually have been infected with that brutal virus, the destruction left in its wake, was certainly not insignificant.

At first, I did not realize that Covid had left behind some nasty little mementos.  It truly is the virus that keeps on virussing, isn’t it?

In addition, being the fruitcake that I am, I always have to be bloody extra and thus I just had to start menopause at the exact same time as the planet was trying to murder every human living upon it.  As anyone of a certain age will tell you, menopause is also a condition that keeps on giving (or taking, such as the case may be). 

I gradually started noticing some brain fog, intermittent dizziness, a weird spasmodic hand grip thing, and the cherry on top, god-awful hair!  And when I Googled these symptoms alongside Covid and Menopause, I found that I had scored two for two!  I DID tell you that I am bloody extra!  These two afflictions combined forces with post-Covid stress to create the perfect storm….   a hair loss hurricane, if you will.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow…

My previously luxurious mane had turned into a dull, tangled, straggly rat’s nest.  That’s to say, what was LEFT of it!  Like most people, I have always had a bit less hair at my temples but within two months of shaking off the confounded virus, I noticed that I was developing what could only be termed male pattern baldness (or perhaps the beginnings of some New Age Monk hairstyle).

The only positive in all this (and I’m reaching hard here…), was that I was fortunately not going grey too quickly on top of it all (thanks to genetics again – both parentals went grey very late in life).

Seeing the handfuls of hair going down the drain during showers, was quite awful and terrifying.

Equally distressing was discovering hair lost during wash-day, under my boobs, and also in other places…The fact that I was, at this time, still GHD’ing my curls into forceful submission, thus creating lovely, straight, and FLAT hairstyles, made my hair loss even more evident.  To add insult to injury, it would appear that any hair that was trying to make a comeback seemed to have lost its way and was now sprouting forth on my chin!!

I am not too proud to admit that I seriously considered, for a brief and frantic moment in the shower one morning, to “Donald Trump” the remaining strands and arrange my stork’s nest into an elaborate and duplicitous coiffure to hide the problem.  However, I do not possess enough free time or commitment to dedicate what, I anticipate, would be a significant portion of my day to try and pull off such trickery.  Besides, despite my best Google sleuthing (ok, I spent five minutes before boredom set in), I could not learn the man’s exact regimen.  I suspect it involves a bevy of underpaid minions and the spit of some exotic, possibly extra-terrestrial, salamander.

I knew that the Covid related hair loss was temporary, but it was extremely evident that even without the added strain of Covid, my hair was thinning so quickly that tying it into my usual “let’s get shit done” quick and nasty messy ponytail, resulted in me looking like I had been bathed by an especially dedicated momma cow.  This was, of course, attributable to my new BFF and uninvited squatter, Menopause, and she was not going anywhere.

Facing the Hair (loss) Demon Head-on

So, what to do?

Being a Google graduate of many interesting (and many useless) topics, I naturally turned to Professor Doctor Google first.  I learned that there was, annoyingly, not much that can be done to reverse the loss suffered as a result of the Evil Ms. Meno.  Thank goodness however that once the last vestiges of the Coronavirus moved out of my bones, the hair it displaced by its unwelcome presence could move back in.

Google did, however, give me hope that I could slow down further hair loss by using a variety of different (extortionately expensive) hair care products and regimens that would require more time in my life than I had left to give!  I guess the assumption was that, since I am turning into an old hag, I should simply retire so that I can spend all my time faffing with my hair and rubbing MSM cream into my aching joints….

Thus, as I so often do, I ignored most of what Professor Doctor Google told me and headed off on my own quest (read tangent).   I decided that I would accept and embrace my natural curls.   Curly hair can be quite voluminous (a.k.a. Mufasa-esque) and I was determined to use that volume to my advantage to conceal the wasteland upon my head.

Deciding to embrace my natural curls, was the easy part!  Actually doing the embracing was an epic adventure and there were many, many, bad hair days.

I spent way too much money on curly hair specific or “volumizing” shampoos, conditioners, and other products whose sole aim was to exploit people trying to embrace the CURL. I splurged on a (rather stinky, I must say) hair growth serum that promised a lot and delivered very little.  I also tried the viral DIY serum involving Bay rum (this one made me smell a bit like I remember my Daddy smelling), which also did nothing more than invigorate my interest in cocktails!  I took Biotin supplements.  I joined all kinds of hair care Facebook groups, Instagram pages and watched many, MANY YouTube videos.

It was all rather exhausting and I will write another post about my adventures into the “Curly Girl Method” (insert eye roll here).

Accepting the New Hair

Two years on and I have accepted my hair (as it is now) for the most part.  Some days, it is lovely, glossy, and perfectly curly.  On other days, I look like I lost a battle with a demonically possessed bramble bush.  Most days, however, what I see in the mirror is a full head of hair, and I count that as a WIN!

Have you had similar tribulations with your menopausal and/or Covid addled hair? Do share your stories with other readers by leaving a comment below.

Thank you for visiting with me today. Do stay tuned for more midlife hair adventures.

Chat soon,

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