I was sitting in the dentist’s chair, my eyes tightly closed as the doctor injected novocaine into my gums. While I waited for the numbness to creep in, he suddenly grabbed my hand with concern.

“Oh no, what happened to your fingers?”

Looking down, I saw a thin line of blood pooling around two cuticles and quickly snatched my hand from his grasp. “It’s nothing – just some cuts from working in the garden,” I lied.

It was the same lie I had told many times whenever someone spotted blood around my nails. I’ve been chewing the skin around my cuticles for as long as I can remember. It’s a disturbing habit that I share with my mother and older sister; sitting together on the couch, we’d watch a suspenseful movie on TV and nibble away at our fingers until they bled. 

I didn’t worry that my fingers looked like they’d been through a cheese grater when I was home with my family, but shame over my unsightly hands made me hide them in public – either curled behind my back or buried deep in my pants pockets. It was a dirty little secret that I kept to myself, especially during my teen years when being ‘normal’ was paramount to fit in with my peers. However, if I forgot about my chewing and accidentally allowed my hands to be seen, someone would inevitably ask what happened to my fingers. 

I got really good at lying about my bloody cuticles with a ready-made list of excuses. This was easy enough, but it also interfered with simple, day-to-day actions such as shaking someone’s hand, eating in public or scrolling on my phone.

Occasional nail-biting during stressful situations was considered socially acceptable. Inflicting pain by ripping off the skin around my cuticles until they bled was not. Even worse, I had no idea what caused the compulsive behaviour. Nor was I aware of when I was doing it – until I felt the pain and saw blood. Knowing that I couldn’t stop the habit only added to the layers of shame and insecurity I already felt regarding my appearance.

The cuticle chewing has continued well into my adult life. Nothing I’ve tried prevents the habit because the temptation to nibble exceeds the pain and embarrassment of torn cuticles. I’ve tried topical ointments, keeping my nails well-manicured and painted, wearing gloves around the house, and covering my fingertips in bandaids, but the compulsion to chew never stops. It is strongest when I’m anxious, depressed or hungry, and I subconsciously use the behaviour to soothe and distract myself. Mostly, I gnaw on my cuticles while working at my desk or watching television – just like my mother and sister did. 

Only recently have medical experts labelled the psychological condition of dermatophagia (compulsive biting and gnawing of the skin on the fingers and hands) as a body-focused repetitive behaviour (BFRB). While it doesn’t share all the clinical features of obsessive complusive disorder (OCD), there is some debate around whether to diagnose the condition as OCD or as an impulse-related disorder. Although I’m relieved to learn my problem is a medically acknowledged ‘condition’, labelling it as a disorder is unsettling. I’ve already been diagnosed with other disorders, including anxiety and depression, and this just adds to the list.

Although dermatophagia is a relatively new concept, medical professionals have added similar behavioural disorders to the BFRB/OCD category, including dermatillomania (skin picking), onychophagia (nail-biting) and trichotillomania (hair-pulling) as well as cheek and lip biting. Each is a form of self-mutilation, but an unintentional one. According to the Mayo Clinic, roughly 1%-5% of the world’s population suffers from BFRBs. Most begin around puberty and, interestingly, occur more frequently in women than men into adulthood. 

Doctors have yet to find a definitive cause for dermatophagia. The behaviour may be genetic, learned, hormonal, psychological or a result of certain medications. Without knowing the root cause, finding a treatment is challenging.

Unfortunately, my grown children have inherited my BFRB tendencies. This is likely due to genetics or learned behaviour from watching me gnaw on my fingers. Two of them bite their cuticles; one makes knots in her hair (then rips it out) and the other picks at the skin on his arms and legs. Luckily, we can joke about it, and my kids know they’re not alone in dealing with this kind of compulsive behaviour. In fact, we gauge each other’s mood by the condition of our skin.

I’ve been subconsciously biting my cuticles for so long now that the tissue damage has affected my nail growth, leaving them thin, brittle and uneven. People who don’t understand the compulsion to chew cuticles (and the surrounding skin) find it weird and gross. There is even a nickname in the mental health community for people like me: wolf biter. Oddly, I prefer this term over being labelled as a person with a psychological disorder. 

Many physicians recommend cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) as well as habit reversal training to cure dermatophagia, although some say acupuncture, meditation and hypnosis may also help. I have yet to explore these options. Until then, I believe I need to figure out the root cause of my behaviour and understand why chewing and picking the skin pacifies me.

It’s somewhat helpful knowing I’m not a lone wolf; I belong to a pack of other finger nibblers who have no idea why they compulsively chew and mutilate their cuticles. But I’ll continue to search for effective ways to keep my fingers as chew-free as possible. Meditation and gum chewing have sometimes helped, yet realistically, I know this habit may never be broken. While I’ve come to accept the behaviour, I no longer let it define other aspects of my life or diminish my confidence. I am who I am: a wolf biter who runs with a friendly pack. 

Frame Of Mind is Stylist’s home for all things mental health and the mind. From expert advice on the small changes you can make to improve your wellbeing to first-person essays and features on topics ranging from autism to antidepressants, we’ll be exploring mental health in all its forms. You can check out the series home page to get started.

Images: courtesy of Marcia Kester Doyle