Susan Smith Facebook ad: “GLP-1 hair loss is real”

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"Your hair will grow back," my GLP-1 doctor said, while a zip lock bag of my hair sat on her desk. I was 9 months on the shot, 43% of my hair was already gone, and nobody had warned me. She didn't even open the bag. Twelve hours earlier, my 16 year old daughter had found it in my nightstand and asked me if I was dying. Let me back up. Because if you're on the shot and your hair is starting to come out, I need you to hear this first. It's real, you're not imagining it, and nobody is going to warn you. I'm 44, I have two kids and a husband named Mike, and I've been the biggest one in every family photo since the first grade. About 16 months ago my doctor put me on a GLP-1, and I didn't tell a soul except Mike. Not my mom, not my sister, and definitely not the kids. I kept the pens in a shoebox in my nightstand drawer, under my reading glasses, like a teenager hiding cigarettes. And it worked. God, it worked. By month four I was down 38 pounds, my wedding ring was spinning on my finger, and Mike was looking at me across the kitchen the way he did before we had kids. Then one morning I pulled my pillowcase off to wash it and there was hair all over it. I figured it was a bad week. I’d rinse the conditioner out, a whole clump would come between my fingers. I'd stand there in the shower with it stuck to my hand, just staring at it. Then it was the drain every morning, the shoulders of my blazer, the back of the couch, and my ponytail went from a fistful to something I could close my fingers all the way around. And I couldn't ask anyone about it without telling them about the shot. So I googled it at 2am with Mike asleep next to me, and every single article said the same thing. Eat more protein. I was already choking down shakes on a stomach that didn't want anything. It kept coming out anyway. And deep down I knew it was the shot. I'd lost weight before, I'd had two babies, and nothing had ever done this to my hair. By month eight I could see my scalp in the car mirror, and Mike had started joking that I was shedding worse than the dog. I laughed along, then locked the bathroom door and cried with the fan on so nobody would hear. So I decided I was going to make my doctor see it. For seven days I saved every hair. Off the pillow, out of the drain, off the couch cushions and my blazer, all of it into one gallon zip lock bag. By day four it was half full. I kept it in the shoebox with the pens. The night before my appointment I came home from work and Emma was sitting on my bed. The drawer was open. The shoebox was open. My pens were lined up on the comforter next to her, and she was holding that bag in both hands like it might break. She'd only been looking for a phone charger. "Mom, what is this?" I couldn't get a word out. "Are you sick? Is that why you've lost all the weight?" "Emma, no, honey, listen to me." "Were you even going to tell us??" So I sat down next to her and told her everything, the shot, the pens, why I'd hidden it. She wiped her face and looked down at the bag again. "Then why is your hair in a bag, Mom?" And I didn't have an answer. Because I didn't know. She slept in my bed that night for the first time since she was nine, and I lay there listening to her breathe and thinking about what it would do to her if kids at school started saying her mom had cancer. The next morning I put the bag in my purse and drove to my doctor. You already know how that went. She glanced at it, turned back to her screen, told me my labs were perfect, and said to aim for 80 grams of protein a day. Then she weighed me, smiled at the number, and said "see you in six months." I sat in that parking lot and tried to figure out how I was going to tell Emma the doctor didn't even look. So I told her the doctor said it was normal. She didn't believe it either. Every morning after that I'd catch her standing behind me at the coffee maker, looking at the back of my head, and pretending she wasn't. So I threw everything I had at it. - Protein shakes, 100 grams a day, gagging them down on a stomach that wanted nothing, $64 a tub - Biotin gummies, three bottles - An $88 a month hair vitamin, for three months - Rosemary oil every night until my pillowcase smelled like a salad And every morning, the same clump between my fingers in the shower. One night I told Mike I was thinking about stopping the shot. He was quiet for a long time. Then he said "You'd go back to how you felt before?" And I said "At least I'd still have my hair." I meant it. That's how bad it had gotten. Two weeks later I took Emma to get her hair cut for homecoming. Deb has cut her hair since she was six. I had mine twisted up in a claw clip, like always by then, and I sat in the empty chair next to Emma scrolling my phone. Deb was sweeping up behind me when she just stopped. I felt her standing there. Then she leaned down and said, really quietly, "how many months are you on the shot, hon?" My whole body went cold. Nobody knew. Emma looked at me in the mirror. "I'm not being nosy," Deb said, and pulled her stool over. "I've just seen the back of your head on six women this month." "Month four, month five. They finally like what they see in the mirror, and then their hair starts coming out in the shower and nobody tells them why." Emma turned all the way around in her chair. "So my mom's not sick?" Deb looked at her, then at me. "No, sweetheart. Your mom's not sick. This is happening to so many women on these shots, and nobody warns them." Emma grabbed my hand, and I started crying right there in the salon with foils on the lady two chairs down. Nine months of being told it was stress, and protein, and in my head. Hair loss on a GLP-1 is actually real. It just took a hairdresser to say it out loud. Deb said she'd gotten so sick of watching it that she'd asked one of her regulars, a dermatologist who's been sitting in her chair for fifteen years, what was actually going on. Then she pulled a hair tie off her wrist. "Your fat was holding onto a lot of your estrogen," she said. "When the weight comes off that fast, the estrogen goes with it." "And estrogen was the thing keeping a hormone called DHT off your roots." She wrapped the hair tie around her finger, once, twice, three times, until the tip of her finger went red. "Once the estrogen's gone, DHT does this to the root. A little tighter every week. It shrinks it and shrinks it until the hair can't hold on and just lets go." "I bet you figured it was the shot," she said. I just nodded. "You're right that it started there, honey. It's just not the shot itself. It's what losing all that weight so fast does to your hormones, and that's why it happens in the first place." "And your labs came back perfect because there's no blood test for this." I asked her about the protein, because that was all anyone had ever told me. "Protein's fine, keep drinking it," she said. "Biotin's fine too. That's food for your hair." "But you can feed a hair all day long. If something's choking the root, the food never gets there." I'd spent nine months feeding hair that was being strangled. And I'd been blaming myself for not eating enough. Then I asked her the thing that had been eating me alive. "Why didn't my doctor tell me any of this?" Deb laughed, not in a mean way. "Did they weigh you every visit?" "Every single time." "Did anybody ever look at your head?" "No." "Honey, ask any woman in my chair why she quit her shot. Nobody at a weight loss clinic wants to be the one who says the word hair." I thought about the bag sliding back across that desk. Then I said it. "So I have to stop the shot." "No," Deb said, so fast Emma jumped. "That's not your only option." "I've had women quit over this, gain every pound back, and still end up in my chair crying." "So you don't need more food for your hair. You need something that blocks DHT, a natural one, and you take it while you stay on your shot." "You don't even have to stop your shot." I don't think anybody has ever said a kinder thing to me. Deb took Emma's appointment card off the counter, flipped it over and wrote two words on the back. Bloom & Bond. "It's the one I send all my shot girls to, because it's cold-pressed pumpkin seed oil and saw palmetto together in one little softgel," she said. "The pumpkin seed oil means your body makes less DHT to begin with, and the saw palmetto keeps whatever's left off your roots. It gets both hands off the hair tie." "And don't grab the cheap pumpkin seed pills off Amazon. A lot of them are heat-processed, and the heat breaks down the part of the oil that actually matters." "We don't sell it here. You'll have to order it." She wouldn't let me pay for anything but Emma's cut. That night Emma sat on my bed while I ordered it, the same spot where she'd found the shoebox. She read the guarantee out loud over my shoulder. "90 days, and if it doesn't work, it's free, Mom." Then she put her head on my shoulder like she used to when she was little. I'm not going to pretend it was overnight. ✅ Weeks 1 and 2: nothing, same clump in the shower, and I stood there thinking I'd been had again ✅ Week 3: the clump was smaller, and I didn't tell anyone because I didn't trust it ✅ Week 5: I pulled my pillowcase off to wash it and had to look for a hair ✅ Week 8: Emma stopped checking the back of my head at the coffee maker ✅ Month 3: Deb parted my hair at Emma's next cut, went quiet, then pointed at the baby hairs coming in along my part ✅ Month 4: Mike ran his hand through my hair on the couch, looked at his fingers, and didn't make the dog joke He didn't even know why I started crying. I never stopped my shot. I'm 61 pounds down and I still take it every Sunday night. The pens aren't in a shoebox anymore either. They're in the fridge door, where everyone can see them. At my six month check-in, my doctor glanced up from her screen and said "see? told you it would sort itself out." I didn't bring a bag this time. There was nothing to put in it. In the car Emma asked if I told her the truth. I said no. She said "good, she doesn't deserve to know." Deb told me three of the women from her chair are on it now too, and she hasn't had to sweep up much after any of them in weeks. And the craziest part? When Emma told my sister the whole story at Sunday dinner, my sister went white. She'd been on the shot for four months and hiding it from all of us. She's on week six of the softgels now, and last Sunday she texted me a picture of her shower drain with about four hairs in it and just "?!?!" I'm not a doctor. I'm a mom who hid a shoebox in her nightstand and almost let her daughter believe she was dying, because nobody told me the truth. So I'm telling you. If you're on the shot and your hair still looks fine, please don't wait until you're filling a bag. And if you're already where I was, you don't have to choose between the body you fought for and the hair you had. This is the one Deb wrote on the back of that card. I'll leave it here. 👉 thebloomandbond.com/products/new-pumpkin-seed-oil-softgels P.S. It comes with a 90 day guarantee, so if it doesn't work for you, it's free. P.P.S. For most of us it starts around month four. Nobody warned me. Now nobody can say that about you. Last week Emma found an empty zip lock bag in my nightstand, threw it in the trash, and hugged me without saying a word.

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