It’s Officially Hair Now

It’s Officially Hair Now

🌼 Date: Saturday, May 30, 2026

⚡ Energy: Soft fuzz, tiny styling effort, and hot pink ambition

💖 Status: No longer bald, not quite styled, but definitely growing

😏 Outlook: If cancer gave me a blank canvas, I’m painting it magenta

Today I am giving y’all a hair update.

And yes, I can officially call it hair now.

Not peach fuzz.

Not lint.

Not “is that growth or just weird lighting?”

Hair.

Actual hair.

Tiny hair, yes.

Soft hair, absolutely.

Hair that still has a long way to go before it can do anything dramatic, but hair nonetheless.

And let me tell you, it is as soft as a baby’s little butt.

Which is not a sentence I ever expected to write about my own head, but here we are.

Cancer recovery is weird.

It is also coming back salt and pepper.

Which is definitely not a Tina-approved hair color.

No offense to the natural silver fox community. Love that journey for you. Truly.

But this was not on my PC Tina color palette.

A lot of people get what they call chemo curls when their hair starts growing back. Sometimes after chemotherapy, hair comes back with a different texture, color, or curl pattern because chemo affects the hair follicles while they are recovering.

For some people, straight hair comes back curly.

For others, curly hair comes back straighter.

Sometimes the color changes too.

So far, mine is still coming in straight.

Just like it left.

Apparently my hair said, “We will return with the same texture, but in a color Tina did not authorize.”

Rude.

Straight I can handle.

Salt and pepper?

Not without a plan.

I have even started “styling” it.

And I am putting that in quotation marks because let’s not get carried away.

This is not a blowout.

This is not a curling iron situation.

This is not a round brush, product, heat protectant, and hairspray kind of moment.

This is me getting my hands wet, swooping the hair on top over to one side, pushing the hair on the sides toward the front, and calling it a hairstyle.

That’s it.

That is the whole routine.

Wet hands.

Swoop.

Pat.

Hope.

Air dry.

Very high maintenance.

Very salon quality.

Very “please respect the craft.”

I would be lying if I called it a wash-and-go hairstyle, because technically that would imply I can get out of the shower, towel dry it, and go.

Nope.

As soon as I get out of the shower and towel dry it, it is already too dry to style.

Apparently my hair has the absorbency of a paper towel in the desert.

So I have developed a process.

First, I get out of the shower.

Then I towel dry.

Then I apply lotion to my face and body, because this skin has been through enough and we are not tempting the crispy gods.

Then, after all of that, I get my hands wet and do my tiny little styling routine.

Swoop the top.

Push the sides.

Let it air dry.

And then I walk away like I did something.

Because I did.

I styled my hair.

All nine hairs and their friends.

This is a milestone.

Do not minimize my art.

For those of you who know me, you will not be surprised to hear that yes, I have already purchased hair color.

Of course I have.

Did anyone really think I was going to grow back a whole new head of hair and not immediately start planning what color it should be?

Please.

Have we met?

This is Tiny Tina we’re talking about.

The hair may be small, but the plans are not.

I found one that is all organic and made from vegetable dye.

It says it only lasts 30 washings, which made me laugh a little because right now I do not have the energy or strength to shower every day.

So at this point, I’m pretty sure my hair will grow out and need to be recolored before I ever actually wash the color out.

Cancer math.

It’s different.

This time, I went with magenta.

Because if I am fighting the breast cancer battle, I might as well wear the warrior uniform from head to toe and rock the hot pink hair.

Pink ribbon?

Cute.

Pink shirt?

Sure.

Pink accessories?

Always.

But hot pink hair?

Now we are making a statement.

If cancer is going to take my hair, then when it comes back, I get to make it loud.

I get to make it fun.

I get to make it mine.

And maybe that sounds small, but it does not feel small.

Hair is emotional.

Anyone who has lost it knows that.

It is not “just hair.”

People say that sometimes, and I understand they usually mean well, but losing your hair during chemo is a whole thing.

It changes how you see yourself.

It changes how other people see you.

It announces something about you before you ever open your mouth.

It makes you visible in a way you did not choose.

When my hair was gone, I was not ashamed.

I went bald.

I owned it.

I did not hide from it.

But that does not mean it was easy.

It does not mean I did not miss my hair.

It does not mean I did not sometimes look in the mirror and think, Who is this woman, and where did Tina go?

So watching it grow back, even in this tiny soft baby-butt stage, feels like a piece of myself is returning.

Not the same as before.

I know that.

Nothing is exactly the same as before.

But it is something.

A little reminder that my body is still trying.

A little proof that chemo did not get the final word.

A little fuzzy flag planted on my head that says, Still here, still growing.

And yes, I am absolutely going to mess with it.

Because that is part of taking it back.

I spent months with no control over what my body was doing.

Hair falling out.

Skin reacting.

Feet going numb.

Chest swelling.

Energy disappearing.

Medications changing.

Appointments taking over.

Doctors making the schedule.

Cancer calling the shots.

So if I can choose magenta?

I am choosing magenta.

If I can swoop my tiny hair to the side and call it styling?

I am calling it styling.

If I can look in the mirror and smile because there is finally enough hair on my head to have an opinion?

I am going to smile.

Recovery is full of big milestones, but it is also full of little ones.

The first time you notice stubble.

The first time your head feels fuzzy instead of bare.

The first time you realize it is long enough to move in one direction or another.

The first time you compare it to someone else’s hair and realize yours is longer.

Sorry, Casey.

Milestone achieved.

The first time you buy hair color and think, Maybe I am ready to have fun with this.

That is where I am now.

Not quite ready to dye it yet, but close.

The box is here.

The color has been chosen.

The warrior uniform is waiting.

I just need to get up the nerve to actually use it.

And when I do, you know I will update you with a picture.

Because if I go hot pink, we are documenting it.

Obviously.

This blog has seen surgery, chemo, radiation, one boob, giant medical gowns, lymphedema sleeves, neuropathy feet, shaving stones, puppy nurses, bunny chases, lotion experiments, and unsolicited advice warnings that involved shoe violence.

It can handle magenta hair.

Honestly, it might be the least weird thing I have posted lately.

So for today, the update is simple:

My hair is growing.

It is soft.

It is straight.

It is salt and pepper, which was not approved by management.

It is styleable, if you use the word “style” generously and with love.

It may soon be magenta.

And I am starting to see little pieces of myself come back in ways I did not realize I needed.

One tiny swoop at a time.

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💗 Tina –
One Badass Day at a Time