Around four months postpartum with my second baby, my hair began falling out in clumps.
Every morning, I'd look down in the shower to see a tangled mass of hair on the floor.
Sometimes I'd leave it there, hoping my husband would notice and sympathize, but it never seemed to bother him.
It certainly bothered me.
I was desperate for someone to commiserate with, for a way to regain control over my body.
Growing up, I always had a complicated relationship with my hair.
In Ukrainian culture, a long, thick braid is a sign of beauty, and mine was never good enough.
As a child, my grandmother used to put raw eggs in my hair to thicken it up. Later, growing as a teenager in an affluent New Jersey town, I spent hours straightening my naturally curly, frizzy hair to fit in with my peers.
It wasn't until college that I began to embrace my curls, gaining more confidence and even experimenting with bangs—a decision I later regretted when it took forever to grow them out.
My hair always grew slowly, but I never noticed it falling out.
In my 20s, my hair began to noticeably thin and lose its luster as I started working hundred-hour weeks during my career in finance.
I didn't know it then, but these were early signs of my autoimmune disease.
At 33, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s.
Desperate to get pregnant, I went gluten-free and overhauled my lifestyle. After a few months, my hair started to feel thick and healthy for the first time in years.
During my second pregnancy, despite debilitating nausea and fatigue, my hair became even fuller and healthier.
It was something I felt proud of—I finally had the thick hair I had always wanted.
Then came the postpartum period, a time nobody truly prepares you for.
According to the NIH, “The postpartum period begins soon after the delivery of the baby and usually lasts six to eight weeks and ends when the mother’s body has nearly returned to its pre-pregnant state.”
But my experience didn’t fit that neat timeline. At around eight weeks, my postpartum depression was emerging, not ending.
I was struggling with my new reality as a mom of two —desperate for my baby to sleep longer, for my toddler to adjust to having a sibling, and for my partner to anticipate my needs.
The hair falling out was just the cherry on top of a difficult time.
After some frantic research, I was reminded that postpartum hair loss is completely normal.
As estrogen levels drop, hair shifts from the growing phase to the shedding phase, leading to noticeable hair loss.
But knowing it was common didn't make it any easier to bear.
Every morning for weeks, I saw huge chunks of hair in the shower and sobbed. I wondered when it would stop, when things would get easier, when I would feel happy again.
There was nothing I could do to control my hair loss, and I felt helpless.
Losing my hair felt like shedding my old self, and that brought about a deep sense of grief.
I never regretted having kids, but I often missed my old, pre-baby self. I missed what my thick pre-baby hair represented—freedom over my time, control over my body, and comfort in my own skin.
One day, after weeks of seeing my hair on the shower floor, I realized I would never fully return to my old self.
Though I was struggling to accept my new reality, it was exactly what I wanted.
In that moment, I decided to stop crying over shed hair and focus on moving forward.
The journey to acceptance was neither quick nor easy.
It took time to transition from struggling with my new identity to embracing it.
As the weeks passed, my hair started falling out less, and my postpartum depression eased as I got more sleep and time to myself.
Gradually, I began to find strength in my new role as a mom of two.
I realized that welcoming my new self wasn't about reclaiming my old identity but about embracing a new one—a blend of who I was and who I had become.
Recently, at eight months postpartum, I got a haircut.
My stylist pointed out the “baby hairs” sprouting around my hairline—short, new strands growing back after the old hair fell out. These baby hairs symbolized not just regrowth but the new me that had emerged during the postpartum period, a process of letting go of the old and embracing the new.
My postpartum journey has been one of recovery, healing, and transformation. During this time, I’ve found a renewed sense of self-acceptance and strength as a mother.
While my hair remains an integral part of my identity, I’ve learned to accept the changes it has undergone.
Losing my hair became a catalyst for finding a deeper, more authentic version of myself.
Namaste,
Tamara
PS - Have you experienced postpartum hair loss? How did it affect your sense of identity and self-esteem? I’d love to hear about your journey in the comments.