I am depressed. Do you have times when you feel pretty, like you look your best, and times of ugliness, like you look awful and nothing helps? Along with looking bad comes depression, sickness and staying out of the public eye to save them the horror of seeing me and save myself the horror of perceived criticism.

This particular era began with a bad haircut. Nothing like a bad hair day to sabotage your self-esteem. It started out so normally. I went to my usual place to get my usual haircut. I like a bob, all my hair the same length. I told her what to do – no layers. Some women look great with layered hair. I am not one of those women.

As I sat in front of the mirror chatting about the weather or some other mundane topic, the hairdresser chopped away. The front of my hair looked fine, but when I saw the back, I realized she had layered it. Of course, they can make anything look good with their blow dryer and little round brush. “It will be okay,” I rationalized. “I can manage it.”

It was not okay. When I tried to style it at home, it looked awful. Maybe I can use rollers to get it to behave? No luck. It was so short it would not even go around a curler. I dug out all my hats, the sun hat from vacation, the denim hat from Walmart, even my winter stocking hats. I looked stupid. I would just have to grin and bear it until it grew out.

I was so angry! “I am never going to cut my hair again!” It can grow down to my butt. I will put it in a French roll, a ponytail or bun – anything. In my fury I also decided to quit coloring my hair and let it go gray. What does it matter? It looks like crap anyhow.

The next era was even worse. I had this tiny sore on my nose. I finally decided I needed to have it looked at. The dermatologist could probably zap it with a laser and get rid of it. “It is basal cell melanoma,” she told me. Skin cancer! I could get surgery, which would leave a scar, or I could get it treated with radiation. Of course, I chose radiation.

My hair didn’t matter now as I had a bright red and very sore nose. Talk about looking ugly. I could out-shame witches. I hated even going to treatment and enduring the stares of other patients. I could cover it briefly with a band-aid, but that doesn’t look much better. The good news, if there can be such a thing, is that it is not the kind of skin cancer that can get in my blood stream and kill me. It can only embarrass me to death.

So, that is the reason I have become a recluse. Thanks goodness for Amazon where I can order what I need. Thank goodness for Instacart where I can order groceries without going to the store. Thank goodness for drive-thru drug stores and fast food. Thank goodness for restaurants with carry-out food. Thank goodness for Facebook so I can keep up with the world that is passing me by.

I know I am being vain, that many people have serious illnesses much worse than skin cancer or a bad haircut. Two more weeks of radiation on my nose, a month to recover. I have something to look forward to – eventually.

Can you suggest anything? I hope I will still have a nose when this ordeal is over, but I am never getting my hair cut again.

Sheila Moss 2026