“Mommy, please don’t pull your hair out!”
When my daughter exclaimed this, my heart sank. It’s one thing to grapple with a self-destructive habit, but when your child is watching your every move, the stakes feel so much higher. My little one may only be three, but she’s keenly observing everything I do.
I’ve been wrestling with trichotillomania since childhood. I vividly recall the days of plucking out my eyebrows and eyelashes. There was a particularly embarrassing moment when I completely removed the hairs from one side of my eyebrow. I tried to cover it up with makeup, but I ended up looking utterly ridiculous. My cousin couldn’t help but point it out. “Did you draw your eyebrow?” she squealed. That was my first real realization that this strange habit might be noticeable to others.
I emphasize the word “secret” because, despite my public hair-pulling, it was never openly discussed. My family, friends, and even partners have skirted around the topic, treating it like an elephant in the room. I remember riding a bus in Madrid during college, mindlessly yanking strands from my scalp when an older woman confronted me, hurling insults in Spanish. “Freak, crazy, bitch…” were the words that pierced through my shock. To this day, that’s the only time a stranger has addressed my condition.
“Disorder” is such a harsh term, isn’t it? I’m not in dire straits; I pull out hair one follicle at a time. It doesn’t hurt—actually, it can feel oddly satisfying. I know it sounds strange, but I’m not alone in this. According to the American Journal of Psychiatry, around 2% of the population battles trichotillomania. Even celebrities, like my crush Olivia Munn, have bravely shared their experiences.
Unfortunately, there’s no quick fix for this issue. I’ve seen countless psychiatrists and therapists and have tried various medications to curb the habit. I’ve donned wigs, hats, and even gloves. I’ve experimented with essential oils, Rogaine, and castor oil on my scalp. Hypnotherapy? Tried it. I’ve prayed relentlessly for relief. Yet, nothing seems to work. Stopping has proven to be an elusive goal.
I consider myself fortunate, as most people don’t notice the sparse patches in my hair. They assume I have naturally fine hair or that I prefer my hair short and tied back. Spoiler alert: I don’t. I long for the day I can let my hair flow freely, unburdened by the constant urge to tug and pull. But I know it could be worse. I’ve encountered stories of others who’ve had to shave their heads, unable to conceal their struggles.
When someone says “it makes me want to tear my hair out,” I can’t help but cringe. I know that urge all too well. Anxiety, boredom, and stress can trigger it. Whether I’m watching TV, sitting at the computer, or driving, I find myself pulling out hairs until they gather into a pile on the floor. I often collect these remnants, hoping to dispose of the evidence and start fresh.
Many professionals I’ve visited have ultimately dismissed my struggle. While I want to overcome this issue, they seem to think that as long as I’m not harming anyone, it’s not a big deal. I would leave their offices feeling defeated, with a “Case Closed” sign hovering over me. Always questioning whether this would be a lifelong battle. And after hearing my daughter plead with me to stop pulling my hair this morning, I found myself wondering: Am I truly not impacting anyone? Is this not affecting my kids at all?
Today marks the first time I’ve opened up about my trichotillomania. Previously, I kept this disorder hidden from all but my closest family. Like many genetic conditions, there’s no cure and limited research available. I may grapple with this issue for the rest of my life, or perhaps I’ll find a way to overcome it. However, as a mother, my worries have escalated.
Will my children inherit this disorder? Will they observe my behavior and feel compelled to mimic it? Or worse, will they think I’m a freak… or crazy?
I tend to see the glass as half full. In a world filled with challenges, this is one of the less severe problems one might face. I count my blessings daily. But I still pray—for healing, for an end to the shame, and for my actions not to affect my children’s perception of me. Right now, I am their superhero, and the thought of being downgraded to just “human” breaks my heart.