Why I shaved my head before Starting chemo

Love Bombs
Written By Brooke Taylor, Board Chair

Portions of this post were originally shared on Brooke Taylor’s personal blog in fall 2019.


We all cry in the shower. If you don’t, well, you have another safe place I’m sure of it. Or, you’re lying.

I couldn’t imagine spending more than one shower crying because another clump of hair was falling out on cancer’s terms - and not mine. Add on weeks of picking up hair all over the house, and I’m not on board for those kind of shenanigans.

That’s a hard unsubscribe for me.

Cancer showed up uninvited, so I’m not giving it any wiggle room to run the show. That seems rude, honestly.

So, I took charge. Waiting for it to fall piece by piece was too much. Why would I do that to myself?

The day before my first day of chemo, I shaved my head.

My best friend who has been my colorist, stylist, and general stylist since we were 15 years old, took charge and found a few options online to send my hair for either a full wig or a halo wig based on how much hair we’d collect, sat me down, and shaved my head.

While I want to say “it’s just hair. it’s fine.” We both know that’s not true.

But, it is important to know I did it my way.

In Hindsight

There were two driving forces in my decision to buzz my head prior to chemo starting.

Primary: control. I was in the midst of hormone crashing from having a baby and from shutting down my ovaries via Zoladex injections only two weeks later. I couldn’t yet drive because of c-section recovery. And, I wasn’t sure how I would handle business ownership during the chaos of cancer treatment. In fact, I was in the middle of producing a large video shoot for a large organization and everything just felt too much. Hair loss, I could control.

Secondary: finances. In 2019, cold capping therapy was expensive and required so much research and coordination. As a brand spankin’ new mom and business owner with a full client roster I wasn’t sure how I’d even keep my clients during this season. The last thing I wanted to do was take on a vehicle-sized payment to maybe save my hair.

Looking back, I know I did what was right for me with the information I had at the time. Today, I would 100 percent try cold capping. And, for the love, I would have made an appointment to have my eyebrows ombre powdered and begged the scheduler to get me on the schedule before my first chemo session. Losing my brows was mentally more difficult than losing my hair.

Brooke Taylor, Board Chair
BROOKE CLAY TAYLOR FOUNDED THE RURAL GONE URBAN FOUNDATION TO SUPPORT STRONG WOMEN DOING BRAVE THINGS.

A toddler mom and ranch girl at heart, Brooke has lived a life punctuated by hard things.

At 6 years old, she lost her dad to colon cancer. 

Before starting junior high, she traded her close-knit Indiana farming community for an Oklahoma cattle ranch.

As a senior in high school, her guidance counselor assessed her as “not college material,” recommending she was better suited for job training than degree-seeking.

She bet the house on love — and lost. 

After a decade of building a career working for internationally recognized agriculture brands, she moved into her family’s horse barn to start over, launching a business with a single client and a prayer.

And in 2019, on the same day she gave birth to her daughter, she was diagnosed with triple-negative breast cancer, the worst, most aggressive form of the disease. Despite a complete pathological response to chemo and being declared cancer-free, in 2022, it returned for an act two. 

But Brooke has faced exactly none of these roadblocks alone. Since she was small, her family, friends, and community have given Brooke the boosts she needed to rise to every challenge.

“Maybe the bravest thing,” Brooke says, “is admitting that while you could do it all by yourself, it’s okay to call on the people in your corner.”

In the wake of her second cancer diagnosis, Brooke launched The Rural Gone Urban Foundation to support brave, strong women who need people in their corner. The B and C students seeking scholarships. The small-town moms whose businesses only exist as ideas. And especially the women in the ring with cancer. 

Learn more about our mission and donate.

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