Her bright, curious baby eyes stare at me, observant and alert, taking in everything. Feeling the pressure of her stare, I reach up to my scalp and move my fingers around, feeling the strands of long hair. I twirl a few pieces in my fingers absentmindedly. Finally, I find just the right one, my target. I isolate it and pull. Then I do it again, and again, and again, letting the broken strands fall around me. One lands on my baby's face as she's still staring up at me, watching my every move.
And I feel so guilty for letting her see this, even though she's too young to understand. I don't want her growing up thinking this is normal. Or worse, mimicking me, pulling out her own beautiful red hair. Yet I can't stop.
I have trichotillomania, an obsessive compulsive disorder giving me the urge to pull out my hair. I've had it since around puberty, diagnosed at 16. I have a mild case, prevalent enough to be annoying but not enough to need a head scarf, wig, or any of the aids others use to hide their affliction. Trich is more common than people realize. It's hidden because it's embarrassing and poorly understood. Even the so-called experts can't explain it. No one understands it except the trichsters, those who suffer from it.
Trichsters are diverse, but we're mostly women. Urges to pull are equally diverse. My focus areas are primarily scalp and pubic. I shave down there daily to rid myself of that temptation, but I don't go bald as some of my fellow trichsters do. I keep it secret. The most observant hair sytlists notice, but no one else does. The burden is on me to vacuum frequently to avoid pile-ups others can see.
When I was a teenager, I was judged and mocked when I revealed my secret, so I've learned to keep it well hidden. My parents took me to a psychologist who had never heard of trichotillomania and was completely unhelpful in explaining and treating it. No, I'm not depressed. No, I'm not anxious. No, I'm committing self-harm, any more than cutting hair or shaving is self-harm.
Each trichster is different, but to me, my urges are an extreme expression of grooming. I seek the “bad” hairs to rid them from my body. Bad can mean too dark, too crinkled, textured oddly, knotted, split at the end, or commonly these days when I'm in front of a mirror, white. My own mind seeks perfection in appearance. So I pick. And this pursuit of perfection leads to tiny bald spots, many short hairs of new growth, and piles of hair on the floor.
Because I've been blessed with mild urges, I don't suffer from any kind of social anxiety. I'm an extrovert, I have friends, and I love going out. But I don't typically pull around others. I pull when I'm alone, when no one is watching, when I can focus my mind on reading or watching something while my fingers do as they please. Idle hands. But who is around to judge?
My baby daughter has changed my life in so many ways. I am thankful to spend my days with her every day. She brightens my life and lifts my heart. And now that she's more aware and interactive, she's more fun. But she also watches everything I do, her little sponge-like brain absorbing it all. She can't judge my trich because she doesn't know any better. She doesn't know what normal is. And that's the problem.
I'm not suggestion that trichotillomania is genetic. I don't think my daughter is more susceptible because of my genes. But is she more likely to copy what she sees me do? When her delicate hair grows longer and her fine motor skills improve, will she reach up to play with her hair as she's seen mommy do? Will she pull out a strand or two? Will she develop trich at a young age because of me? I can't risk it.
Mom guilt would be immense if I gave my daughter the curse of the hair pulling. My only option is to stop. I've tried stopping countless times before. I've always failed, after a day, after a week, after a month. It's a difficult, time consuming hobby to quit, taking all my focus and willpower to even notice when I'm about to pull, let alone stop. But maybe this time, I can do it. Maybe this time, for the sake of my daughter, I can defeat trichotillomania.
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