It's Trichy

It all started one summer with the quest to find that perfectly imperfect hair. I searched mostly for the odd, rough-textured ones. That soon turned into a search for the ones with a bulbous white root (bonus). This newly obtained odd little habit eventually led to some gray hairs at sixteen (WTF?). It soon turned into thinner hair. Then the bald patches began to grow. That was when the comments, the questions, avoiding haircuts, and the internal shaming began.

This strange relationship with my hair started around at age thirteen, but I didn't know its name until years later. Trichotillomania. It's hard to spell and even harder to stop. I had assumed it was a phase or something caused by hormones or the stress of my teen years and, like that now awkward boy band crush, it would just go away one day. Spoiler alert, it didn't go away. It got far, far worse.

Once I had a name for my condition, I did the absolute worst thing possible, I Googled it. Panic set in over the realization that I had no control over this unwanted houseguest in my head, and as a bonus gift from the universe, there is no cure. It's like the herpes of OCD conditions. This sent me on a spiral of depression that would cause me to pull for hours on end. 'If it's incurable, why bother trying?' At this point, I had already gone through the stages of denial and isolation and was heading into anger, bargaining, and depression territory. This odd compulsion would have me in a veritable headlock for the next decade. No cool, Universe. Not cool.

It was through my journey of learning to be my authentic self that I was able to move to the acceptance phase. By acceptance, I do not mean giving up. What I mean is, while I understood I had zero control over the fact that I was anchored to this condition, I accepted the responsibility of being in control over my reaction to it.

My long, and sometimes difficult, healing journey led me to meditation and self-awareness sessions. After a year of practice, I was finally able to tell myself 'This is not who you are. This compulsion does not define you and is not your authentic identity.' It's a mantra I repeat to myself to this day. By knowing and accepting my true, authentic self, I found control. Not only over my hair pulling compulsion, but my depression, and overeating as well.

I was finally done isolating myself and made the conscious decision to be strong and have faith in my new found mantra. For the first time in almost a decade, I went to a professional hair salon to have my hair cut. Cue the stomach butterflies. I took my seat in the plush leather chair; nervously awaiting the stylist and that revealing moment when they would remove my hair clip and see my scalp. When the stylist asked, 'what happened to your hair?' I didn't lie. I didn't make up some beauty school dropout story about trying to bleach my hair and suffering breakage. I forced myself to look at her and said 'I have Trichotillomania.' I have never felt more free and in control of myself than I did in that moment.

I've been pull-free for two years now. While I'm far from perfect and my journey has not been easy, I have learned how important being your true, authentic self is. I have accepted myself as I am and I expect no less from the people I allow into my life. I now understand that the way I look does not define me and neither does this condition.