Character Just Like Mine

Eyebrows: Week 2     Eyelashes: Week 2

Day 1 (February 04, 2019)

Hi Jesus,

            So, I’m trying really hard not to be so hard on myself. I pulled really bad last week. My left eyebrow ridge is nearly bald, and my right eyebrow ridge has a gap in the middle that gives it a rather exaggerated looking arch. (I’m looking awfully shocked these days.) But it is not just my eyebrows, my left eyelash line has a large gap in the middle, and my right eyelash line is missing a rather large section of hairs on the side closest to my nose.

            Can I be honest? My brain wanted to yell and scream at you, for allowing me to endure this reoccurring hair pulling torment, but my heart told me not to. (What good has that ever done me?) I have worked so hard not to blame you for my pain, and I have become better at controlling my anger towards you. I’m just sad, I guess. So very sad, Jesus. Sad because I know what the aftermath will be like. It will encompass weeks and weeks of mighty will power, on my end, to allow my hair lines to fill in naturally. Oh Jesus, those weeks will be so uncomfortable, and I will want to isolate myself because I just can’t let people see my facial oddities. (Not again, I just can’t.)

            You know, after I pulled the majority of my eyebrow hairs, I just wanted to feel numb. Feeling nothing was easier than working through the pain and suffering. It took me a while to text Dane about what I had done. He was at work, and I just didn’t want to burden him with another hair pulling episode of mine, especially since he was working, and I was just at home writing. I did eventually express to him that I feared not caring anymore whether I lost another hair pulling battle or not. It was like I already knew what it felt like to lose, and I had already clawed my way back up to “normalcy” time and time again. So, why did I really need to care anymore when it was all becoming a mundane, reoccurring, routine I could traverse with mindless effort at this point? I was beginning to think, why not just let the onslaught happen instead of wasting my energy fighting it? It would be easier to just clean up the debris after and save my energy for the recovery that always followed. Jesus, I was, and still am, so weary of fighting—surviving—and numb indifference is really starting to look appealing.

            But you must have known all of this before I even expressed these words because, hours after pulling, Dane arrived home with a load of grocery bags hanging from his muscular arms and peeking out from one of the bags was a pale yellow, long-stemmed, rose. Chuckling, I made my way to my husband, grabbed the bag with the rose in it, and asked him playfully why it was there. And you know what Dane said, Lord? “It is to help you hang in there.” Within seconds, you can bet your girl snuggled right into her man’s arms and hugged him tight. I was a little nervous to pull away and allow him to see my facial oddities but, honestly, I should have known better than to ever think my husband could ever find me repulsive. Dane just looked into my battle worn face and told me it was okay. He told me I was beautiful.

            Oh Jesus, sometimes I just want to sob out of sheer thankfulness for this man—this comforter—that you created just for me. You out did yourself when you formed this thoughtful man of mine. But you knew, didn’t you, Lord? You knew how much I would need someone who could encourage me to fight on. (Boy does he!) He always makes sure I do not give up, and if I can’t find a reason to fight for myself, he asks me to fight for him because he loves me with all his mind. (Haha, not his heart. He always likes to remind me a heart just pumps blood, but the mind . . . the mind knows whom it loves.)

            You know, he cared so much in that moment that he felt so bad the rose had one green petal. He felt like he didn’t give me the perfect flower, but I knew it was the right one. I told him it was perfect, and that I loved the green petal most of all. After all, it gave the rose a touch of character, and it made it more like me—slightly “imperfect”—but more beautiful, and more loved, because of it. Thank you for the reminder Jesus, and I promise I will do my best to find the beauty and purpose in my character. (I promise to fight on too, Lord.) Love you so much.

Always,

Your Daughter Kaitlan

P.S. Lord, please encourage anyone struggling with OCD and Trichotillomania (anxiety in general) to keep up the fight. Help them see that they are not alone (others are fighting similar battles as well) and that you are there, willing, to back up their efforts in battle. Lord, please put people in their lives who will continually remind them that their anxious “imperfections” are not repulsive but, instead, are touches of character filled with unique beauty and opportunities for a humbled purpose. Thank you, Lord.

Thank you for reading! If you are new, this is a chronological blog series. It is best read in order. CLICK HERE for the intro.