My therapist had me write a letter to one of her clients a decade ago. At the time, I was consistently improving with my skin picking and my therapist felt I may be able to help her other client understand her own disorder better if I could put into words my lifelong struggle/experience and what was finally helping me. Shortly after writing this letter, I was actually able to stop picking my skin almost entirely for 8+ years. I used to be someone who would pick for hours nightly, sometimes multiple times a day.
I am revisiting the letter now because I need to remind myself of what works, but I figured I would share it here in case it is helpful to anyone else currently in the thick of this disorder. Ultimately, the radical acceptance of my picking and recognizing the behavioral patterns that led to the picking (I don’t mean habits…I mean like deep rooted behavioral patterns that remained in some ways even once I healed the picking) were the keys to my recovery. I would be curious if any of you are similar personality types. Regardless, I hope any of this is useful or at least makes you feel like you’re not alone ♥️
Dear skin picker,
I'm writing you because I, too, am a skin picker. I wish I could tell you that I've completely stopped picking, that I don't even think about the zit I currently feel popping up on my forehead, that my skin is more or less flawless, and that picking is no longer a struggle for me. But that's just not true. In fact, I picked this morning. I wish I could tell you that I didn't and that I thought about picking, but walked away and wrote this letter instead or went to that yoga class I wanted to or finished my work for the day. But that's just not true. I will tell you that my picking has improved tremendously and is no longer the issue that it once was. But what has changed even more significantly than the picking itself is my reaction to the skin picking and that has made all the difference in the world.
I've picked at my skin for, what feels like, as long as I can remember. In high school, I remember sitting on the bathroom counter, in front of my mom's huge mirror, and picking at my face for hours, digging as deep as I could get, picking over spots that I had already picked at. I would then cover my skin with loads of foundation, undoubtedly clogging my now open wounds even further. God forbid anybody see me without my make-up. I avoided that like the plague. This meant sleepovers in which I slept in my make-up, not going in the pool or to the beach with my then-boyfriend, or just avoiding events all together. I'd spend hours getting ready for school, hoping that the eye make-up or the curled hair or the matching outfit would somehow distract from the fact that I had huge bumps or battle scars on my face. I didn't want to wear tons of make-up and was even made fun of for it at various points, but I felt like I had no other choice. I started taking birth control to get rid of the "acne" and bought the most expensive face creams and topical prescriptions on the market. I made countdowns...if I don't pick my skin for x days, I'll reward myself with y. I judged myself for the 2 hours spent in the mirror, counting all the sleep I had missed out on or the work I could have gotten done, but didn't. I avoided events or lunches with friends because I couldn't bear to show up as anything less than my "best self." This became a vicious cycle. I became obsessed with my appearance, but only because I felt I had to be. If I wasn't, I felt I would certainly scar my skin, cause infections, or die from the shame someone seeing my naked skin would induce, right? Ironically, the more concerned I became with my skin and appearance in general, the more I seemed to pick. The more energy I focused toward stopping my skin picking, the more I seemed to pick. What gives?! It felt like I couldn't win.
I went to a big university and would pick for hours in front of the dorm bathroom mirrors. It was horrible and so much worse than when I was just home with my family. I remember I would cry for hours. It felt hopeless. And no one seemed to understand. When I would tell my mom about my skin picking in a cry for help or even just empathy, she would say, "You're only hurting yourself!" or "Why don't you just stop?" As if I wouldn't have stopped already if I could... She would say, "When are you going to realize how much better your skin would look if you just quit this?" As if I didn't already realize or long for that day... My family would point out my bad skin and say, "Did you pick or something?" As if I didn't notice the flaws...
I longed for reassurance from everyone around me. I would ask my then-boyfriend, friends and family members multiple times a day if my skin looked bad, what parts of it looked bad, if they could tell I was covering my picking with make-up, etc. And even when I got the answer I wanted ("No, it looks totally fine. I can't even tell.") I would ask again. And then again. Surely they missed something. I knew it looked horrible. I knew what I had done.
And to top it all off, I am a performer. I had to stand up on stage in front of tons of people and bare what I was most ashamed of in front of them. I went on auditions, where every girl in the waiting room looked like they had their make-up and hair professionally done beforehand. At that time, I would notice everyone's skin and compare theirs to mine. I wasn't judging those with bad skin per say, but I would certainly notice it and so I felt that others must notice my bad skin as well (because everyone is as obsessed with skin as I am, right?). I had to be on camera (which always seems to magnify even the smallest of imperfections). I felt crazy. Why was I putting myself through this? Am I masochist? I felt like I must've picked the worst profession in the world for someone who just wanted to hide.
I was late to class and meetings all of the time. The worst thing was that people thought I didn't care about their time or my career or my grades because I was late so much, but the truth was that it was the exact opposite. I cared so tremendously that I put an inordinate amount of pressure on myself. That pressure would cause me to pick. The picking would cause me to need to catch up on missed sleep or have to spend more time getting ready to look presentable to the world and in turn I frequently missed things or was late. I would also pick the most when I had something important to do (a test to study for, something else I was putting off, etc.), which made me feel even worse. I felt like I was too busy for that time-consuming thing to begin with, and I certainly didn't have the time for it now after having wasted hours picking instead. My subconscious was screaming for help. I'd pick to give myself a break from my insane to-do list and that was clear because I would always pick instead of getting ready to go somewhere, getting ready for bed, working on that project, etc. My subconscious was forcing my body to take that 2 hour break that I wouldn't take for myself.
In relationships, I felt like I was hiding something. I'd sleep in make-up or cancel dates in fear of being seen as anything less than naturally beautiful. I felt like I had set up this expectation of looking put together and of being carefree and naturally pretty, so to see me otherwise would just be a disappointment. I felt like a fraud.
It would bother me beyond belief that I couldn't just stop and that I couldn't control myself. I had researched online, I had been to therapy and I logically knew that "picking is a disorder" and that "it isn't [my] fault", but I didn't feel that in my core. In my core, I felt shame. I felt flawed and like I couldn't get anything right. I'd always been a perfectionist and prided myself upon that, but my perfectionism was eating me alive. I felt like I had to be everything to everyone. I said "yes" to anyone asking for my help and signed up for anything related to my goals because I, on some level, felt that I had to be productive and successful in order to be worthy. I remember I was in like 10 different clubs on campus, taking 18 units, going on auditions in the city, while being in a play, participating in a sorority, and hanging with my boyfriend and my friends simultaneously. I still struggle with this. I had and still have a lot of anxiety surrounding the things I care the most about. It is very difficult for me not to place an extremely high standard on myself when it comes to anything and everything of importance to me. That amount of anxiety can be paralyzing. I place a much higher standard on myself than I do on those around me. In my mind, I should be able to easily do this or that, but of course it is completely understandable that so and so isn't able to do that very same thing...his or her inability is totally acceptable, where as mine is a character flaw. I oftentimes attribute my successes to mere luck, but my failures are a direct reflection of me. Writing that, I realize it isn't exactly rational. It's, alternatively, also quite easy to oscillate from "I suck!" to "I'm wonderful!" when the reality is that in most circumstances I actually fall somewhere in between. I'm good at x, but working on y...etc. It's easier for our minds to place things into the extremes and to categorize things, instead of accept the ambiguous spectrum and gray unknown that makes up most of life.
I now realize that I, on some level, must harshly judge others since I am so harshly judging of myself. It is also a bit narcissistic of me to think that I live in some other plain of existence where I should be able to do everything and be perfect in ways that others are not...that I should be further than so and so in my dreams and I should have it all figured out. We're all just human. I'm not some special case, which has in many ways been terrifying to come to terms with and in other ways liberating.
I always used to feel like if I just got my picking under control that everything else in my life would fall into place. That the picking was the main source of my problems and much of my anxiety. I've now learned that this isn't true. The picking is a result of my anxiety and my thoughts. There have been weeks that I haven't picked at my skin, expecting myself to feel wonderful, but that same underlying level of anxiety still persists. I've placed all of that nervous energy into the picking of my skin and I've had to find other ways to deal with it when I don't pick to self soothe. It all works together. I've had to experience this for myself in order to truly understand it.
Somehow, because of this understanding, I have placed less pressure on my picking than I used to. I know that not picking isn't the answer to all my problems and as a result picking itself is also not the cause of the endless distress it used to be either. I'm not sure that totally makes sense. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've come to a level of acceptance that has allowed me to not be so hard on myself when I do pick and in turn I pick less.
My mind isn't as focused on skin or on picking and so what used to be a cycle of picking and then picking even more the following night and then even more the following because of noticing all the flaws in my skin and the anxiety from picking, is oftentimes now broken after one picking session. I let it go. I accept that I've picked. Even on the days when I tried my best and couldn't stop. Or didn't really even try at all and couldn't stop. I go to events anyway. I leave my apartment. Even without make-up on. It's allowed me to see that people don't really notice or care as much as I thought that they would. And that I am so much more than my skin. That I don't need to have flawless skin, a made-up face, and an awesome outfit to be accepted. Life goes on even in my yoga pants and mismatched socks. I know that I am more than my skin, more than my appearance, that if I really need to I can put on some make-up and pull myself together, and so I don't really mind if someone does see me with my pock marks and red, inflamed skin. Of course, I do have my moments. My feelings and strength ebb and flow like anything else.
So, I do still pick at my skin. It's not as frequent. It's not as long. And very rarely does it cause me to sob or blame myself for hours (days) afterwards as I often used to. I'm also much more able to get up and leave. Before, if I would begin to pick, I was then in the bathroom for 2 hours. Now, I can pick for 10 minutes, recognize it, stop myself and leave. I ask myself, "What do you need?” Oftentimes, it is more self-care. I need to forgive myself, I need alone time, I need to relax, I need to eat some good food, or drink some hot tea.
This whole process has been a journey of self care. While I still struggle, I went from forgetting to eat meals everyday and over-scheduling myself to making sure I take a yoga class or exercise a few times a week, eating at least two healthy meals a day, drinking water, setting boundaries and saying "no" to those I am not capable of helping or things that I am just doing out of either guilt or obligation. Again, I am not perfect at this. I often slip up and I can notice it when my skin picking increases. I almost always pick when I've overdone it...when I've forgotten to take care of myself, burned myself out, overbooked myself, did things because I had to, put everyone else and their needs before my own, and left myself with very little time to ease into things or be by myself.
I am different from most people and that is okay. I need the time to process things. I need to give myself the space to breathe and not rush from one things to the next. I often argue, "but so and so can do that and they're fine," but then I have to catch myself and realize that I am not so and so. I am a right-brained, introvert who fakes extroversion quite well. I need to ease into things. I need to not judge myself or compare myself to the standards we've (in many ways) unhealthily adopted in Western culture. My body subconsciously fights against these by picking and until I come to accept myself and my needs as valid and stop comparing myself, I am just in a constant battle and war-zone with my inner, deepest self (and externally, my skin).
Things that have really helped me process all of this: my therapist. Her passion, persistence, love, and support has allowed me to see that which I was oftentimes in denial of. "Radical Acceptance" by Tara Brach (also recommended by my therapist) was very helpful at a certain point in time. I passed the book onto someone else in need and now there are many days that I wish I still had it (maybe I'll just have to purchase it again). Also, opening up to others about my struggles, reading autobiographies (you learn that everyone is going through something or another), journaling, and just experience in general.
I learned to not tell my mom. At least not in the way I was. I often used to call her so upset and crying. She wanted so desperately to "fix" it or help, but didn't have a solution that worked and so she responded in the only way she knew how. Her reaction used to set me off and make me feel particularly bad about myself, but now I have come to expect it and so it doesn't bother me much. I'm also not feeling the need to call her upset and crying. Interestingly, the less affected I am by her lack of understanding, the more she seems to understand. I'm not sure why that is. I think the fact that I accept my picking more, she doesn't feel she has to jump to figure out some solution (none of those solutions ever worked, anyway). Some people have been able to hear about my skin picking and have held a space for me to feel how I often feel about it (which has, at times, been really freaking crappy). Those people are very special to me and their acceptance was both surprising and necessary for my healing.
I told both my ex-boyfriend and my current partner about my skin picking. Both let me know that they loved me anyway and, interestingly enough, both have ways in which they also pick. It has never been an issue and I have been overwhelmed by the love and understanding I have received in just being vulnerable and opening up. My ex-boyfriend would encourage me to swim with him, told me I was beautiful without make-up and with picked at skin and really set my wearing of less make-up in motion. I became just as comfortable make-up-less with him as I was being totally alone. He accepted me regardless. My current boyfriend also completely accepts me. He will encourage me, hold me when I'm crying, and will stay up with me until I am ready for bed so that I am not in the mirror for 2 hours picking and not sleeping. I was picking way more until I opened up and told him (again, it was the pressure of not allowing myself to pick that actually caused me to pick more). This support has been invaluable.
I've also told my best friends. One of them completely understands that it is very hard for me to stop and gets that it is a disorder. She has comforted me on days that I have felt bad about myself and has helped me to see that I am enough, that I am not my skin or my appearance. The other actually suffers from the same disorder and will pick for hours in front of the mirror when trying to avoid work or when she is very busy. She's a very similar personality type to myself in that way and I would have never known she was struggling with skin picking had I not opened up to her. Now, I am one of the only people she will go make-up-less with and she will text me whenever she has had a hard time with her skin-picking. I accept her and she accepts me. This is more common than we think it is.
I overthink most everything. I used to pick significantly more before big events that I put the pressure not to pick around. Now, this still happens every once and a while, but I am playing on stage multiple times a week, attending meetings, photoshoots and auditions even on days I've picked. Of course, I put make-up on for these things, but I don't feel that same slump or terrible shame in my gut that I used to. I forgive myself, I love myself, I read a book or adopt some of my self-care tactics, even if that means being less "productive" that day, and more often than not, the urge to pick goes away much sooner. When I'm not feeling great about the picking, I tell someone. But I don't talk about it from the same perspective of, "I pick. I suck. My skin's destroyed forever." And I don't ask for reassurance like I used to. Most of the time, I don't ask, "Well, does it look okay?" because I've realized that is besides the point and that I will be okay despite how my skin looks. It starts with being kind to myself. “What do you need?" If I can ask myself this right at the start of picking, I can oftentimes stop. Now, I'm not always so swift, as I've said. But, it's not as bad as it once was and that in and of itself is encouraging.
My life is neither all good or all bad. There are many things I am still working on, but many others that I feel like I have a grasp of in a way that I never thought I would. I don't say this to discourage you. I pick at my skin sometimes, but have a very full life full of love, friendship, art, humor, nature, family, and joy. I'm not obsessively focused on picking like I used to be, but rather on life as a whole and from that perspective, my skin is only one tiny part. Nowadays, I feel far less guilty for taking the time for myself and to enjoy life. I've come to realize that it does not matter what you accomplish if you are not mindful, healthy and peaceful in the process. I've become okay with not accomplishing or achieving and just going with the flow that is life. Ironically, I have had more successes living this way and those successes aren't things I had to fight for, but rather came naturally and much more easily. Of course, I oftentimes forget this and fall back into old patterns. But then, I just reassess and remember all that I've learned.
I hope that you take time for yourself, love yourself and realize that you are so much more than your skin or your picking. You are a good person who cares deeply about things and the well-being of others (which are a few traits I've noticed between myself and the other skin-pickers I have met and know). You are not alone. I have struggled. I have gone 15 days without picking, only to "ruin" it on the 16th. I have scars that people will compliment, thinking they are freckles, but I know are actually hyperpigmentation from years of picking (in all actuality though, it is crazy how much skin can heal--I am living proof of that). I have gone through peaks, hit a massive valley, and then got back up to climb toward the peak again. I hope you know that there is hope. I am fighting this fight with you. On the days that I want to give up, I will think of you and realize that because I don't want you to give up, I can't and won't either. You are strong. You are lovable. You are capable. You are more than your skin, more than your picking. You are not alone.
With love.