Ashley shares her trichotillomania story about bullies and the friend that made an everlasting impression.

Trichotillomania (hair pulling disorder and “trich” for short) started in the seventh grade—before I knew my behavior even had a name. Trich made me feel alone, like a freak, and out of place.

Most of all, I felt UGLY. Broken.

Because I had no eyebrows or lashes, school was filled with questions, bullying, and torment.

In the lunch line, a girl asked, “Do you have cancer?”

“No,” I answered in a shaky voice. It deeply hurt that she noticed and saw the “real me”.

She continued, “My mom says you have cancer…” They were talking about me? “and if you don’t have cancer, then is something wrong with you?”

I left the line and went the rest of the day without food. On the days I did get lunch, I took it far away. But the bullies followed me. One guy got a cheek full of sunflower seeds, chewed them and spit them in my face. He said, “You’re too ugly to live!”

I didn’t feel alive. So I pulled more. Trichotillomania tricked me into believing it would ease my pain (it lies). My soul screamed at me, stop!, but my hands were uncontrollable.

The mirror’s reflection was a hazy, distorted view as the tears blurred my vision. I’d cry. The type of crying you do when you lose somebody. I guess I had. I’d lost myself.

But something changed. I found a friend named Jade. I explained how terrified I was to go to school without eyebrows. She never judged me. The next day, I couldn’t believe what I saw. Jade’s eyebrows were gone. “Oh my God, what did you do?” (I thought I’d given her my trich at first, like it’s contagious 😉) She replied, “I shaved them off so you wouldn’t feel alone. If people make fun of you, they’ll have to make fun of me too,” she said, and we walked off, her head held high. She taught me confidence and unconditional love— something I’m forever grateful for.

Time, therapy, writing and music healed me. I had “beat it” for many years.

Until my husband and I had a baby girl. With the sleepless nights and the new stress of motherhood, trichotillomania came thundering back into my life. I kept it undetectable, but even though others didn’t know, I did, and I felt broken again. Those bullies voices rang in my mind. And new thoughts. What kind of mom am I? What kind of example will I be setting? So I will fight this again for my daughter, and for you.

And telling my story is part of that process.

My story is for YOU. If you’re getting bullied, feeling out of control, ashamed or unworthy, I’m here for you. You are not alone. You are not ugly. You’re beautiful no matter what they say.