I can remember the first time the disorder made its presence known in my life. I remember sitting on my back porch on a balmy summer day with my purple-and-teal caboodle lying open in my lap. I recall sitting in front of its tiny mirror, fixating on my dark, lush eyelashes and plucking every single one of them from my eyelids. I cannot remember why I did this, but I'll never forget seeing the terror on my mother’s face as I came inside with bare eyelids and a barefaced amount of shame. I wish I could say it stopped there, but I began to pull at my eyebrows and eventually the hair on my head. The side glances, stares and nicknames like "Whispies and Bosley" at school eventually led to questions from classmates and concerned teachers. I remember lying when they asked and I tried to hide the broken pieces so they would stop staring. How could I answer their questions, when I had no idea how to answer them?
In late middle school, trichotillomania became real to me. It is an impulse control disorder that comes with an overwhelming urge to pull out one’s hair with little or no conscious restraint. For some, it may be quelled by awareness and concentration, but for many, it is so consuming that it dominates one's ability to focus on anything else. Millions of people shamefully suffer from trichotillomania; 80-90% are young girls and women. And what causes them to carry that shame is society's image of a "perfect" woman. Perfect hair. Perfect face. Perfect body. It wasn't until my early teens that I was fully aware of what my brain was telling my hands to do so I spent the subsequent years trying every remedy, therapy and trick in the book to gain control and defeat it.
Unfortunately, there is no definitive cure or solution. Many doctors claim that anxiety, depression or O.C.D can trigger the behavior, and prescribe selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitors (SSRIs) in an attempt to alleviate the urges. I was told I'm not crazy— my brain chemistry is just a little different from others. Seeking help from medical professionals who know so little about this disorder is as frustrating and disheartening as you can imagine. Those who are unfamiliar with trich may simply ask, "well, why can't you just stop?" Trust me, I wish I could tell you it were that easy. As an independent, strong-minded woman, giving in to urges I cannot control is mentally, physically and emotionally exhausting.
I say all of this with the conviction that I haven't completely given up on myself, or on those who can help me. Each and every day, I wake up knowing I have a brand new day to start over. To look forward and not in the mirror at what I may have done the day before. It's just hair; it doesn't define who I am (and quite frankly, it doesn't define who any of us are). I am fortunate enough to have amazing friends and family who understand, support and love me for who I am and what I fight for.
This week, we celebrate BFRB (body-focused repetitive behavior) Awareness Week which is why I share my story with you today. My hope is not for you to feel sorry for me, or anyone else who suffers from this disorder, but acknowledge its growing presence in our society and recognize the beauty within all of us and not without. We all have our struggles, we have our fights, and we have things in life we just can't control.
When I think about what I have been through over the past 18 years, I think of the lotus flower. How it descends into shallow, murky waters at night and emerges beautiful and pure with the next day's sun. I keep that image in my mind as I look to others with empathy rather than judgement and to my own self for strength instead of shame.
