What if I stopped fighting my skin picking? What if I stopped begging for a cure? What if I stopped agonizing over and hating it? What if I just let it be?
What if I accepted it?
Those are scary questions. Coming from a place of pure struggle, they seem like unthinkable questions. Why would anyone want to stop fighting something so horrendous as skin picking disorder?
I think this is one of the reasons why so many people don’t see acceptance of the disorder as a form of recovery. But I, someone who has picked at her skin for over 25 years, consider myself in recovery from skin picking disorder.
Acceptance of my body-focused repetitive behaviour (BFRB) — dermatillomania, excoriation (skin-picking) disorder, whatever you want to call it — was a long, uneven process. There was no epiphany moment where things just clicked and I was all better. It was slow and even painful at times.
The thought of accepting my skin picking used to feel like damnation. But I’ll leave you with one of my favourite quotes to think about as I share my journey.
Acceptance doesn’t mean resignation. It means understanding that something is what it is and that there’s got to be a way through it. —Michael J. Fox
The first thing that happened came in the wake of educating myself about my skin picking and BFRBs in general. I’m the kind of person that thrives on knowledge, and that knowledge allowed me to accept that I couldn’t stop my picking with willpower.
I wasn’t a failure for not being able to complete even a day of “X-day pick free challenges” that others were doing in the support groups online. Not being able to will my way through it didn’t mean I was broken or weak. It’s a disorder rooted in the brain, based in grooming behaviours that everyone has, not a habit I should be able to control. I don’t have to hate myself because I pick my skin.
Even then, at first, I still wanted to stop. I had to stop to end this grief, the embarrassment, the shame. But after more learning and engaging in the BFRB community, I came to accept that my skin picking would probably be around forever. Okay, I could live with that if I could minimize the issue. Somewhere, I was still seeking to control it to some degree.
But instead of trying to stop, I focused on reducing the picking. I’d let myself pick some spots, but not others. I saw progress both in the control the disorder had over me and how I felt about it and the damage done to my skin. I started to push myself to wear the clothes I hadn’t worn in years — shorts, t-shirts — clothes that showed my skin.
In doing this I started to accept that it’s okay if my marred skin brings about looks from other people, but it was still a heavy weight. In these early stages, I felt self-conscious still when I got questions, especially if they came from people I know or who were close to me. I was anxious the questions would come…they always did. I felt like an imposter as I preached braving the storm and still fearing it.
Yet, the more I did this, the more I came to accept that people will stare and make ignorant comments. Those are no reflection of who I am as a person. People don’t understand and have been taught that wounds and scars are to be looked down on. That doesn’t mean I should hide.
I accepted I could live a full and happy life regardless of whether my skin picking existed or not, regardless of how many questions I got, how clear my skin was, or how many bandages I needed to cover wounds.
I wasn’t completely free from my skin picking yet, however. Although I accepted all of this, I felt I needed to leave my scarred skin untouched to be true to this feeling. If I wanted to wear long sleeves, it meant I was hiding. If I wanted to get a tattoo, it meant I was covering the evidence. If I didn’t have the mental wherewithal to deal with comments and wanted to wear pants, I was failing at accepting my disorder and a fraud for saying that I did.
But, finally, I’ve accepted that I can cover my skin and it doesn’t mean I’m hiding. I can get a tattoo if I want, and I’m not erasing the past. If I don’t have the mental capacity to share why I have so many scars, that’s okay. I don’t owe anyone my story.
My skin picking disorder is a part of my life, but it is not my identity.
For too long it was. It controlled everything I did or didn’t do, even when I first started accepting it for what it is and how it would impact my life probably forever.
I am no longer negatively impacted by my skin picking. It hasn’t erased the physical consequences like scarring or infections or bloodstains or physical pain.
But I’m free of the mental consequences. If I pick, I don’t hate myself. If it’s hot, I wear shorts and a t-shirt and don’t fear the comments or stares. If I feel like sharing my story when asked about my skin, I can do so without shame. If I don’t feel like sharing my story, that’s okay, too. My skin picking disorder exists, but it is not that which drives me.
Is that not what we seek in recovery? Freedom from the thing controlling us? Freedom from the negative thoughts and feelings and self-perceptions of the thing that brings us shame?
Yes. And that may manifest in different ways for different people. Recovery is not one size fits all, but this is the fit for me.
Accepting my skin picking disorder is recovery.
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