Close eyes

Breathe deeply

Relax your neck, shoulders, arms, legs…

Ask the question: Why do I want to pull out that hair?

Its been six months since I shaved my head, and I find myself becoming more and more aware of the physical need to pull my hair out. When I go too long between buzz cuts, its particularly tempting to grab hold of those wiry, coarse strands and feel that beautiful twinge of pain that releases so much pent up tension.

Looking in the mirror, I spy those wayward hairs that stick out rebelliously from the well-behaved strands laying neatly against my scalp. Those buggers are practically begging for it. I know, however, that I could never stop with one.

After all, it really isn’t about the hair, is it? No. Its never been about the hair. Its about that deep, primal ache that’s always just below my carefully manicured surface. So, when I sit on the couch, thinking about my day, zoning out and allowing my mind to wander, I notice my hand going to my hair, searching for that one hair that’s a little longer than the rest, a little thicker, curlier, harder… When I catch myself in that moment, about to turn to a self-destructive habit for temporary relief, I stop,

I close my eyes

Breath deeply

Relax my neck, shoulders, arms, legs…

And ask myself the question: Why do I want to pull out that hair?

Often the answer is, “I just do, damn it!” That’s okay, because simply asking the question is such a huge change. For so long I’ve used trichotillomania to ignore my emotions. Six months into my current experiment, I am taking the time to simply ask myself what I’m feeling, and giving myself permission to own that emotion or thought.

On those occasions, however, when I am able to answer the question, I turn to prayer, sharing my heart with God, asking Him to hold me, breathing in His peace, breathing out my fear or anger, discontent or sadness. I imagine I’m on His lap, with my head against His chest, listening to the rhythm of His heart full of love for me, until I find my own heartbeat in sync with His. I know I am loved, and its all going to be okay.

This is the neural pathway I hope to create, one that no longer takes me to hair-pulling and shame, but leads to the very source of Love and Peace and Joy and Contentment and Mercy and Goodness and Kindness and every single lovely thing.

I’m getting there. Bushwhacking a new trail is hard work. New vines creep up as I hack away at the old growth around me. The pull of the familiar is strong, but I am stronger, and it will not defeat me.