《The Alopecia Areata Days from Meeting the Wrong Person When Young: At 36, I Finally Understand My Past Self》
This year, I turned 36.
After my birthday on August 27, looking back at my younger self, sometimes I really wonder—what was that girl thinking?
When I was young, I was completely love-brained.
I yearned for love and always believed that treating someone sincerely would be reciprocated with the same sincerity. I dated for about ten years and had nine or ten boyfriends in total. Looking back now, my girlfriends would probably just say:
“How low were your standards?”
Even harsher friends told me: “If your standards stay this low, I won’t be your friend anymore.”
I was unconvinced back then, but now I realize they probably saw earlier than I did the things I refused to face.
Because the relationships I encountered were truly one more outrageous than the last.
One lived off me and eventually hit me; another was involved in the underworld and pushed me into modeling, working at beauty salons, or directions I never wanted; one lived in my house, depended on me and my family, yet stole my money, took things from home, and even spoke to me viciously.
Some never told the truth.
Others were in long-distance relationships full of deep affection, only for me to later discover that what they truly wanted from me was never a relationship that could last.
During those ten years of relationships, I once thought I had simply “met the wrong people.”
But at 36, looking back, I began to understand something else:
Why did I always allow such people into my life?
Friends and sisters—even those who later fell out with me—once said something harsh that I still remember:
“The kind of man you stay with will eventually shape the life you live.”
When I was young, I thought it was an insult.
Now I see it as a reminder not that “you don’t deserve better,” but that—
The person you choose to keep close is also the future environment you choose for yourself.
What I remember most is the period of “alopecia areata.”
My circular hair loss troubled me for many years; I was even hospitalized, but doctors couldn’t give a clear cause.
At the time, I encountered ideas about filial piety and respecting elders, so I began connecting my situation with my past attitude toward my parents.
I used to be disobedient and felt my parents didn’t understand me.
When young, love always came first; I couldn’t listen to my parents and felt everyone was stopping me from pursuing so-called “happiness.”
But around age 28 or 29, my life slowly began to change.
I started turning back.
I became willing to listen to my parents and reexamined my past lifestyle. Later, the alopecia areata that had long troubled me gradually healed.
To me, that was a deeply shocking experience.
Even the doctors found the recovery remarkable.
Medically, I can’t prove a direct causal link; yet from my own life and beliefs, I’ve always felt that the biggest change wasn’t just the hair growing back—it was that I was finally willing to come home.
After 30, I truly returned to my family.
Now at 36, seeing old photos of myself—different hairstyles, wigs, heavy makeup, selfies, laughing and crying over love—I no longer feel the urge to blame her.
I used to think, “How could she be so stupid?”
Now I see she simply longed to be loved, mistaking “someone wants me” for “someone loves me” again and again.
Those two things are worlds apart.
Someone who truly loves you won’t hit you.
Won’t steal your money.
Won’t take advantage of your family.
Won’t push you toward paths you don’t want.
Won’t sustain the relationship with lies.
And certainly won’t ask you to sacrifice your dignity to prove how much you love them.
After 36, I finally understood:
Love is not a lifeline for life.
If a person has no boundaries, even the most passionate love can become draining.
I no longer see “dating many wrong men” as proof that I’m a failed woman.
Those experiences aren’t worth romanticizing; some choices cost me years.
But at least now, I know the kind of life I no longer want.
When I was young, I desperately searched outward for a man who would love me.
After 30, I slowly realized—
Some people had been waiting for me to turn back and had never left.
That was my family.
To me, my parents’ practice of Buddhism, the changes in our family, and my own return home were a major turning point in my life.
So if I could go back to my twenties and stand before that girl wearing different wigs, dating one romance after another, crying herself to death over men, I wouldn’t scold her for being stupid.
I would only tell her:
“You can date, but don’t lose yourself for the sake of being loved.”
Because the most terrifying thing in life has never been meeting a bad person.
It’s meeting a bad person, getting covered in wounds, yet still thinking—
If I’m just a little more obedient, a little more patient, a little more loving, he will change.
He won’t.
What truly needs to change is the way you choose love.
At 36, I finally understand:
The days of meeting the wrong people when young are not a lifelong shame I must carry.
They are simply my past.
And the greatest meaning of the past is finally knowing—
How I will love others, and how I will love myself well.
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#GrowthIsFinallyUnderstandingSelf
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