‘Secret Scars, Secret Shame’

For this month’s blog I wanted to explore the story behind this painting. Secret Scars, Secret Shame was created in 2017 just before my notorious wrist injury. It was a time when I was blissfully ignorant to the fact that artists too can develop RSI, or ‘non-specific upper limb disorder’, which was my official diagnosis. A diagnosis that I suspect is given when the medical professionals have absolutely no idea what the problem is. Yet I digress.

I suppose the real origin of the story behind this painting began when I was 11 years old and I had a secret I kept all to myself. Actually I had several secrets, important secrets as many things were going on during my life at this point, but one thing in particular relates to this painting. I used to pull out my hair.

I have never been entirely sure how this behaviour developed, it is possibly due to the fact that the natural state of my locks is a super frizzy mass and it may have been an initial effort on my part to remove unwanted, unruly flyaways. However it began, it became almost impossible to stop. I can recall feeling around for particular strands of hair, ones that were coarse and wiry. These strands of hair were by far the best ones to put out because they had the plumpest, juiciest roots and thus were by far the most satisfying.

I continued to pull out my hair to the extent that it never grew back completely. Unfortunately for me my favourite spot to pluck was the crown of my head, the most noticeable part I could have possibly chosen. Not that it felt like a choice. It didn’t. I was locked into this behaviour for years and I have looked at the back of my head every single day of my life since and felt intense feelings of shame. No woman wants to be bald, especially when that baldness is of one’s own doing.

I eventually managed to stop (mostly) this behaviour when I was 17, seven long years of hair pulling later. This happened completely by chance one day when I stumbled upon a Channel 4 documentary on OCD. During this documentary I was to discover that this secret behaviour of mine, something that I knew was strange but I had thought was something that only I did, was actually a thing. It had a name. That name was Trichotillomania.

The reason this documentary helped me to stop pulling out my hair is simple. It shocked me. It scared the living daylights out of me. One of the people being interviewed for this documentary was a lady who had so little hair left she was practically bald. The hair she did have left was some long, thin strands at the front. She reminded me of Gollum and I was horrified. Whilst my heart literally goes out to this poor, poor lady, I was terrified that she represented my destiny, and my future self if I continued to persist in this behaviour.

I must stipulate that I am not trying to say that I think baldness is ugly or something to be ashamed of. This is a massively sensitive issue and there are a whole number of reasons women can lose their hair. Some people have similar stories to mine, some are coping with illness, others may choose to shave off their hair for religious or other person reasons. All of this is okay. But for me, at 17, I did not want to be bald, and 20 years later I still don’t. For me I am ashamed of what I have done, and it is something that can’t be undone. Everyday of my life since the age of 11 I have had to wrestle with the knowledge that I have given myself a bald patch.

So whilst the documentary helped me to stop pulling out my hair because it literally scared the crap out of me, it was not the end of the story. 17 was also an extremely difficult age for me and my hair pulling, also known as Hair Puling Disorder was to quickly transform into another shame inducing behaviour. Trichotillomania has a ‘sister’ disorder known as Dermatillomania, or Skin Picking Disorder. This is similar to hair pulling, but instead the focus is on compulsively picking at skin, inflicting damage, possible infection and scarring.

At 17 I had an eating disorder (just to add into the mix) which resulted in me eating only 5 pieces of fruit a day, only apples or pears, and this lasted for 5 years. 5 pieces of fruit a day and nothing else for 5 years. This I did once tell a doctor, because my periods had also stopped for five years. Her response was and I quote, was ‘Oh well, never mind. If you eat properly your periods will probably come back.’ Here the reader may note my immense anger at being completely and devastatingly let down by the medical profession. I think when it comes to eating disorders sadly, unless you literally look like you are about to drop down dead, they really couldn’t give a shit. You’re just not ill enough yet, sorry.

The eating restrictions inevitably messed up my hormone levels which in turn caused me to develop acne.* This acne drew my previously oblivious attention directly onto my skin and onto every microscopic pore. Since the age of 17 I have been battling with Skin Picking Disorder and it is something that has brought me a measure of shame equal to that of my hair pulling.

Through many years of psychotherapy I have slowly learnt that these behaviours, both the hair pulling and the skin picking have been developed as a kind of self-soothing mechanism which I unconsciously resort to at times of stress. As someone with high levels of anxiety, that is to say all of the time. It’s all the internalised, suppressed, unspoken emotions that are trying desperately to be released.

The “solution” it would seem, is to become more conscious of my feelings and to develop ways to communicating them with others. Believe me, this is definitely not the kind of solution I was looking for. I have spent several years wishing the solution could be something else. Couldn’t I just go and visit a guru in India and sit in a cave for a couple of months, or take a magical supplement or…get hypnotised? Perhaps. Yet these ‘solutions’ may only be a quick fix, and not the lasting change that I am looking for.

The butterfly in the painting represents my therapy, as butterflies are beautiful yet fleeting and remind me of my therapist. The white make-up represents both the emotional shame and unexpressed emotions, as well as the physical make-up I have worn in an attempt to cover the self-made scars on my skin. The ruff represents the idea of my hiding my true self from the world and thus putting on a ‘performance’ that says I’m really okay. The model is gazing downwards away from the viewer, an often practised effort to avoid eye contact with others.

These are the symbols that help tell my story. It is a story I tell not for want of any sympathy, or because I am indulgently engaging in self-pity, I am not. I own my past and present behaviours, and it is on me to take responsibility for my self-destructive actions. Yet I hope that others will benefit from my story because along the way of my own journey it has been an enormous comfort to know that I am not alone.

I have never been officially diagnosed with either Trichotillomania or Dermatillomania as I have always been far too ashamed to admit to any doctor that I have these problems. As I am typing this it seems somewhat ironic that I am now choosing to present it to the world on this blog, but I have recently learnt that shame feeds on silence, and I have allowed shame to control my life for far too long.

 *You can read more about my acne journey here.

For further help, support and resources:

TLC Foundation for Body Focused Repetitive Behaviours https://www.bfrb.org/

Picking Me Foundation https://pickingme.org

Habit Aware https://habitaware.com/

Stop Skin Picking Coach Annette Pasternak https://stopskinpickingcoach.com/

Liz Atkin, Artist & Advocate for Compulsive Skin Picking

Canadian BFRB Support Network CBSN