I was 11 when I first reached up and yanked my hairs out of my skin. My best friend and I were messing around with make-up that we didn’t really know how to use and she applied a thick, clumpy layer of mascara that likely looked horrendous. Suddenly, I was hyper-aware of my lashes and how they were attached to my eyelids. They felt heavy and itchy and I was struck by an urge I couldn’t shake: to grab them and pull them out.

I didn’t know at the time that this was the start of my experience with trichotillomania: a mental health condition that causes a compulsive urge to pull out your hair. Even when the mascara was removed, the hypersensitivity to my lashes remained. It’s difficult to explain; they were tingling, just itching to be pulled out so I could get a split second of satisfaction. So, not knowing any better and not yet old enough to care about how I looked, I gave into that overwhelming urge… over and over again.

Looking back, it’s not a huge surprise that I experience trichotillomania (often called trich) – it’s commonly associated with obsessive compulsive disorder, which I have. For me, the condition started with just my eyelashes, but once those ran out, I moved on to my eyebrows, then to hair wherever I could find it on my body. The thing many people don’t understand about trichotillomania is it’s not about hurting yourself (it certainly isn’t for me). Instead, it’s often a chase for that tiny adrenaline rush each time a hair is pulled loose.  

By the time I hit my teens, I was deep in my trichotillomania habits, but still had no idea what I was going through. I had no clue why I felt the urge to pull out my hair, and it seemed no one else was doing the same thing. I felt so much disgust and shame.

On top of the struggle to deal with these emotions, trichotillomania began to affect my self-confidence. In a world where long fluttery eyelashes and full, fluffy brows are held up as the holy grail in beauty, it was challenging to know that I had both and removed them. My friends asked why I wanted to make myself “less pretty” by pulling out my hair. 

I began hiding my trich any way I could. I taught myself to do eyeliner to create the look of lashes. I parted my hair in the middle to hide the receding sides. I drew on my eyebrows. I also spent money on any expensive serum I could find that promised to make the hairs grow back as quickly as possible.

I hated living like this. When my make-up was off, I felt ugly and insecure all over again.

Trichotillomania has made me question my sense of self. I always thought of myself as strong-minded, so why couldn’t I resist the urge to pull? Learning about trichotillomania and researching the condition didn’t provide relief. I felt furious with myself after each time I pulled out my hairs, hating that I would sometimes have to wait months for my lashes to return because I’d chased that one second of pleasure. But beating myself up for this didn’t stop me from pulling my lashes out again. As they grew back in, spiky, itchy, and uncomfortable, it was all the more tempting to yank. Often they’d be gone just as quickly as they’d appeared. 

Things began to change when I opened up about my journey with trich on social media. I was tired of feeling so lonely in my experiences. To my surprise, my words started to reach people and resonate with them. For the first time in my life, I realised I was not alone – I had people who understood this overwhelming compulsion and who didn’t think I was weird or gross for it. This was a huge moment in my healing process. It was so powerful to talk to people who just get it.

My journey with trich is long, complicated, and still going. There have been weeks and even months where I haven’t pulled out a single hair from anywhere on my body. I’ve even made myself calendars and rewarded myself for hitting milestone times without pulling. But healing isn’t linear, and there have been plenty of relapses along the way. As I write this, I’m still feeling the effects of my most recent hair-pulling moment: a month later, my eyelashes still haven’t come back. The key, I’ve learned, is to be kind to myself. I remind myself that it’s normal and okay for blips to happen, especially with conditions of a compulsive nature. 

I spent so long feeling ashamed of my struggles with trichotillomania. I still feel embarrassed when people asking why I have bald spots or point out how beautiful I “was” when I had a full set of eyelashes – but I think this happens because so many people haven’t heard of the condition. My hope, by writing this and sharing my experience, is not just that I’ll raise awareness, but also that someone will read this and feel less ashamed of their struggles.

Trichotillomania is not something to be ashamed of. If you struggle with it, I urge you to be kind to yourself through it all. And if you don’t, I hope this article gives you an insight into the disorder, so you can react with compassionate understanding when you encounter someone who experiences it. The more we talk about these things, the more we can reduce the stigma and remind people that they’re not weird or broken for feeling this way. Most importantly, we can let them know that they’re not alone.

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 Laura Collins