When I got chemotherapy to treat my breast cancer, I lost my hair. I decided not to wear a wig.

• When I got breast cancer for the second time, I had to get chemotherapy.
• I wore a cold cap throughout my treatments, but I still experienced hair loss.

I was diagnosed with breast cancer for the second time at the precipice of summer. First I had two surgeries, which thankfully rendered me NED: no evidence of disease. However, because it was my second breast-cancer battle in four years, my oncologists determined that I should proceed with chemotherapy, radiation, and immunotherapy.

Like many cancer patients, I was terrified to lose my hair. I decided to look into ways to mitigate the damage done by chemotherapy.

I tried cold capping and got a pretreatment haircut

I researched cold capping, a strategy to reduce hair loss by wearing a temperature-controlled cap during a chemotherapy infusion and thus restricting blood flow to hair follicles. I bought cold-pack migraine caps to wear during my treatments in hopes of preserving some of my strands.

I also cut my hair short before starting chemo. At the same time, my second child decided to cut off her waist-long hair, donating it to an organization that makes and gives wigs to children who've experienced hair loss.

I proceeded to have 12 chemotherapy infusions, once a week, from April to July. We live in the Midwest, and our summers can get hot. I made up my mind: There was no way I'd wear a wig, because of the heat.

Around week six of chemo, halfway through my treatments, my hair started falling out. I found hair in my bathtub after I soaked my aching muscles. There was hair on my pillowcase. I shampooed my hair only every few days instead of daily, and I combed it once a day. I needed to leave well enough alone. The more the hair was manipulated, the more that came out.

Between weeks six and 12 of my chemo regimen, I lost about 60% of my hair. I wanted to stop cold capping, but my oncologist encouraged me to keep going. Sitting in a chemo chair for an hour with ice on my scalp was uncomfortable, especially paired with having to wear ice gloves and socks to prevent chemo-induced neuropathy. My doctor said that even if I did lose most or all of my hair, by cold capping my hair could grow back faster.

So I kept on, week after week. The shedding continued, especially when I was outside with my kids and there was a breeze. My hair was fragile and soft, reminding me of a baby chick.

I embraced my hair loss and accepted myself for where I was in my healing

As the temperature climbed, I cared less and less about concealing my thinning, patchy hair. Even my eyebrows and eyelashes were basically nonexistent at this point. Chemo-induced acne covered my face. Even if I'd covered my hair with a beanie or a wig, they wouldn't have hidden the fact that I was a cancer patient. Nothing about my appearance was as it had been.

I practiced what my therapist taught me: radical acceptance. It was so freeing to embrace the situation for exactly what it was, and even as the chemo coursed through my veins and caused side effects including digestive issues, skin rashes, and fatigue, I still felt like my authentic self. I understood it was a privilege to be at one of the best cancer-treatment centers in the country. This wasn't toxic positivity; rather, I looked at my cancer journey as an opportunity to heal.

I understand why some cancer patients choose to wear wigs and caps. For me, concealing that I had cancer was simply too much work. A wig wouldn't help me feel "normal" when I was dealing with several side effects of my treatments. I decided to just let it happen. Though I didn't feel attractive according to society's standards, I found that being alive was the most beautiful gift of all.