Healing through Disappointment

My struggles with Trichotillomania

*Trigger warning: This post mentions self-harm and suicidal ideation*

After taking the clippers to the top of my head.

Friday marked a significant moment for me—one filled with both sadness and resolve. Last week, I made the difficult choice to cut my hair. I didn’t want to, but I needed to. To many, this might seem like a trivial decision, but for me, it was a poignant reminder of the ongoing battle I face with trichotillomania, a disorder intricately linked to my OCD.

I’m not a person super hung up on hair length. I’ve had a lot of hair, no hair, and everything else in between. But this time, cutting my hair felt really hard because it wasn’t my first choice. And as silly as this sounds, I loved where I was with my hairstyle—I did not want to start over.

For those unfamiliar, trichotillomania (aka trich) is characterized by the compulsive urge to pull out one's hair. The severity of my relapse was evident in the stark contrast between the middle of my hair, which had become significantly shorter due to my pulling. I tried so hard not to obsess about the differences in length, but it was painstakingly hard. And even though no one could tell but me and my barber, the impulse to pull, in the unrealistic hopes of fixing the damage already done, was too much for me to ignore.

For weeks and weeks, I tried to use the tools I'd learned in therapy, but the shifts were short-lived. Most of the time, I wouldn't even know I was picking until I looked down and saw strands of hair on my shirt and in my hands. The intensity of the urge to pull escalated, making it clear that action needed to be taken. I had to cut it again, or I was going to damage not just my hair but my scalp. The last time things were this bad was in 2021. I ended up shaving my head completely to avoid creating more bald spots and damage to my scalp. Now more than anything, this compulsion is so deeply annoying.

2021 trichotillomania episode, my scalp hurt so bad.

This season has been a particularly trying time for me personally and within my family. The year began with the sudden and profound loss of Ryan's dad, casting a shadow of grief, sadness, and stress over our household that still lingers. Amidst this backdrop, I've found myself grappling with resurfacing childhood traumas, leading to a notable increase in my depression and anxiety levels this month.

I'm trying to be gentle with myself right now. Still, I'm extremely disappointed that life's triggers and their inherent intensity have such a profound impact on me—driving me to the point where I physically pull my hair out. This is a battle I've been fighting since the age of 19, and as I approach my 35th birthday in July, it's a battle that shows little signs of relenting. Despite years of therapy, different meds for OCD/anxiety, and all of the other tools I have in my emotional toolbox, hair pulling is extremely hard for me to shake.

Before this latest episode of pulling could leave me with visible bald spots, I decided to take control by cutting it off. I suppose I am grateful for the self-awareness enough to do so. That counts for something, right? My favorite spot to pull is so low that I can’t even grip it—which is a good thing. But I reach for it every single day, and if I’m honest, I miss it. I purchased new head wraps and a wig to cover my head, hoping they'll serve as a deterrent to further pulling when my hair starts to grow back.

I'm trying.

I'm trying.

I'm trying.

Despite these proactive measures, I can't help but feel upset and unhappy with myself for not recognizing the signs of an impending hair-pulling episode sooner. I know better—or at least I "should." I've been here repeatedly over the years—this is not new. Yet, I realize that sometimes, even when we know better, we might struggle to do better.

The weight of our darkness, stress, and anxiety can sometimes overpower us—but in our heavy moments, it's crucial to remember that our worthiness remains intact, even when we falter.

Right now, I'm committed to approaching each day with renewed determination, knowing that setbacks are a part of the journey and they do not define my worth or ability to overcome. This setback is a part of my healing work.

Something I've been coming to terms with is that I'm an adult who was diagnosed later in life with anxiety, OCD, and severe depression. I showed signs of all these things growing up. I've been hair-pulling for 16 years. I was deeply suicidal for a lot of my teen years and turned to self-harm. I remember the first time I wanted to no longer be on this earth—I was seven. Again, none of this is new. In therapy, I've been working through my anger and sadness around feeling abandoned, unsafe, and like a burden to the adults in my life. There are times when I feel really angry that the people who were supposed to advocate for me and help me emotionally when I was growing up didn't. And now I'm here, almost 35 years old, picking up the pieces of my mental health over and over again. I know things are what they are, and I'm big grown now, so it's up to me. But I can't help but think about what and who I could've been if someone had taken the time to truly love, see, and choose me. Being at my father-in-law’s funeral and listening to the beautiful legacy of love he left behind brought so much to the surface for me.

Love makes a difference.

Love makes a difference.

Love makes a difference.

Being a parent of three, I couldn't imagine not paying attention to the signs that my children need support and help. As I fish for gratitude in this season of darkness, I feel deeply grateful for being able to see my children in the ways I wasn't seen. I hope they will have more tools than I have when they get my age. Not only that, but I hope they always feel held and loved by Ryan and me—no matter what they walk through, even when they're adults.

Grateful for my barber.

So, as I embark on the tender journey ahead, I will stand tall and steady in the possibility of healing through trichotillomania. My hair will grow back, and I will have more self-control when it does.

I declare that I am worthy even in moments of disappointment and self-sabotage. My anxiety is not my resting place.

I am healing.

I am healing.

I am healing.

Whoever else out there is struggling with hair-pulling, OCD, anxiety, depression, and anything else in between, I hope you know you are not alone. We can get through this.

Community: What hard things are you healing through right now? What is giving you hope? Leave some love in the comments.