Pluck. Pluck. Pluck.

Before I knew it, I plucked nearly 20 hairs in one sitting, visibly leaving my eyebrows bald on the ends and creating a gap in my eyelashes.

I felt hideous – like a monster. I was depressed. Insecure. I felt lonely. Ugly. A failure. Why do I have this disorder? Why can’t I stop picking? When will my hair grow back, if ever?

My parents divorced when I was in third grade. Around this time, I started to develop something that I didn’t know would consume me to this day.

I have trichotillomania.

Trichotillomania, also known as TTM or trich for short, is a form of obsessive-compulsive disorder that is characterized by the uncontrollable urge to pull out your body hair. According to Healthline, “0.5 to 2 percent of people have TTM.”

I’ve always had high levels of anxiety. I pull my hair as a self-soothing coping mechanism to help ease my anxiety, even though after a pulling session, I feel ten times heavier.

But that five seconds of dopamine is worth it, right?

When I was younger, trich started as something I rarely paid attention to.

I didn’t even realize I would pluck my hair or think about how plucking it could be harmful. I was only in fifth grade when it became a habit.

It wasn’t until years later that I realized the impact it would have on my life.

For me, trich means plucking my eyebrows and my eyelashes. There are many different reasons why someone with trich might pull out their hair. For me, it’s due to anxiety or boredom, but primarily anxiety.

The guilt I feel after I pull my hair makes me feel like an anvil is on my chest. I feel like a failure, like I should’ve known better than to pull and stop myself but I never can.

When I first noticed my trich was getting bad at age 11, I went to therapy for a while and it helped tremendously.

My therapist later retired.

I tried other therapists, but they didn’t help me in the same way. So, I abandoned that idea.

Even though I no longer had a therapist, I had someone even better to talk to.

My mom and I have always been close and I truly believe she is the one person on this earth who knows me best. She can always tell when something bothers me and knows how to calm my mind.

I can talk to her about anything.

It was easier to talk to her since she understood what I was going through. She knew I was struggling with trich and she made sure to help me in any way she could.

She has come into my room countless times and sees that I’m picking.

She gently reminds me, “Amanda, you know you’re not supposed to be doing that,” and makes me aware of what I’m doing. I then stop picking and try to distract myself with something else.

She’s given me tools to try and stop plucking my hair, including a rubber band I wear on my wrist every day to play with when I want to pick. It’s a reminder of how much she cares about me.

Over the past year or so, though, my trich has become more severe and frequent. It is debilitating to my self-esteem.

On that day, when I plucked nearly 20 hairs, I went to my mom’s room, defeated.

It was hard to look at myself.

I was thinking all of these terrible thoughts and they kept racking my brain, eating me up inside. My head was spinning. My heart was beating fast. My chest felt tight.

But I knew someone who could help.

My mom.

So, defeated and anxious, I went to her room. Instead of being angry with the visible damage I had done, she said, “It’s OK.” She told me nothing was wrong with me. I wasn’t ugly or any of the things I believed myself to be.

“Amanda, look at me,” she said.

I hesitated but did as she said.

“I want you to know, that no matter what happens, you could never fail in my eyes, no matter what.”

I felt lighter.

We went to the store the next day and found an eyebrow pencil that matched the color of my brows.

She helped me regain my confidence.

She supported me and gave me the tools I needed to feel better. She never got mad at me, even when my trich was debilitating. She was gentle, patient and above all, kind. She understood that this wasn’t something I could stop doing.

It was much deeper than that.

She understood.

She never once made me feel it was my fault or something was wrong with me. This is a part of who I am, but it doesn’t define me.

Having trich is not fun. But what trich has shown me is a mom who cares about me. A mom who loves me. A mom who is there for me. A mom who makes me want to be like her if I have children.

She has always loved me even when I’ve felt like I didn’t deserve love.

My mom is my biggest role model and I would be lost without her. Everyone needs someone like my mom to care for them unconditionally.

Even if you don’t have trich.

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