She's a Trichy Girl

At about 8 years old, I was in the basement playing with my Barbie doll. Barbie had a pink, heart-shaped vanity set that I loved. I picked it up, looked in the tin foil-like mirror and noticed that my lashes were long and thick. JUST BEAUTIFUL. I touched them and rolled them through my fingers. After that, I pulled out a pleasant chunk of lashes.  There they were in my fingers. What have I done? I am not sure why I had the desire to pluck out those bad girls, but it gave me a sense of immediate comfort and relief. A feeling that didn't make sense at the time. It was also a feeling of immediate regret, an "oh shit" moment. Will they grow back? Do I tell mom and dad? No, no, I must keep this to myself.

Since that day, I haven’t stopped pulling my lashes and brows. 

Around age 13, I started using make up to mask my "oddities."  I thought I was different, a weirdo. I thought people wouldn’t like me if they knew I didn’t have eyelashes or eyebrows.  I felt I was the only one. I felt ugly, uncomfortable, disgusting. Little did I know, this was a disorder called Trichotillomania; a disorder affecting 1% - 3% of today’s population.  

Some days, I’d lock myself in the bathroom, climb up on the sink counter, stare at myself in the mirror and pull out every last lash and brow.  I still stare in the mirror every morning while getting ready for the day and every night before I go to bed. Inspecting my face and the hairs, looking for just the right one to satisfy the urge.  

I can fill in more of the blanks later, but let’s fast forward to 2005, my freshman year of college.  While taking a psychology class, each student had to present a different disorder assigned by our professor.  The classmate next to me was assigned Trichotillomania.  He said, “What kind of weird freak pulls out their hair?”  At that moment, I realized I had something real. I wasn’t alone. Sinking in my seat, I tried to cover my face.  I also wanted to punch that kid's head right off his dumb neck.

For years, I believed I appeared ugly and strange. I decided to seek help. After that day, I researched and found a doctor who specialized in hair pulling. This was a huge step towards recovery and a wonderful relief.  I started wearing less and less make-up and became more comfortable with myself.  At that point in time, I hadn’t gone swimming in years in fear that my eye brows would wash off.  That summer, I felt liberated and started swimming again.  I am happy and accepting of my disorder. It has been rewarding to educate others. My family, husband, and friends have supported me and furthered my confidence.  I still have bad days and have a difficult time accepting the way I look, but Trichotillomania does not define who I am.   

Stay tuned for more short stories of my journey with Trichotillomania.

Self Portrait, 2010