Dry Hands, Damp Eyes

I noticed my blistered hands today, rubbing my fingers over the rough skin. Rock climbing is beautiful, but it leaves your hands less-than-desirable. Anyway, I think that’s what has inspired this post. If you have OCD, know that there’s nothing wrong with you! As sadistic as it may sound, it’s a gift given to a select few. You’re special. 😉 

I remember holding some guy’s hand during a cold December night when I was 21 (man, that seems like ages ago, ha). He commented on how “amazingly soft” mine were. “Whew,” I thought. He doesn’t know my secret. No, he doesn’t how much intention I put into lathering on copious amounts of lotion, prepared for the Dreaded December Dryness. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad this winter since I improved my compulsive hand-washing? Well, I wasn’t chancing it.

So, about that compulsive, extreme hand-washing…

“Oh no, what happened to your hands?!” My 7-year-old self would inevitably face this dreaded question at least a few times during winter, be it from a peer, teacher, or relative.

I’d impulsively pull my sleeve down or shove them into my pockets, embarrassed and ashamed. Every winter during my childhood, the surface of my hands would get bright red, the skin pulled away with blood lining the cracks.

Yes, many people experience dry skin in the winter. But this wasn’t just a case of “winter itch.”

It’s one of the most common quirks of obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD). Despite its popular misuse, OCD is not being a strategically organized type ‘A’ person. That’d be too easy. Waaaaay too easy.

It’s interesting; I’ve long had a fascination with my hands. My mom would describe to me how, as a baby, I’d hold my hands up and stare at them endlessly. I was captivated by these two tools, with 5 moving parts on each one. Fingers I could control, contract, and manipulate. As a baby, I don’t know what I was thinking; perhaps it was just typical baby curiosity about the world.

But looking back on my childhood and young adult years, I know exactly why I obsessed with keeping them clean. And it had more to do with fear, than curiosity.

Compulsively washing your hands stems from an obsessed fear of germs, causing you to scrub and wash and rewash…often until they bled. It’s constantly feeling dirty and thinking the environment around you is dirty. Thoughts of impending doom are the norm — it’s like you can sense the bacteria surrounding you. It’s thinking that you’ll contract a crazy virus because your hands are not. clean. enough. It’s suffocating. And the most frustrating part? You’re aware that you’re imparting unnecessary stress on yourself, and you can’t stop.

I’m grateful my case was not so severe that it’d prevent me from doing most things (some OCD patients can’t even leave their house). No, it wasn’t that bad. Still, it left me with painful physical and mental ramifications.

I don’t remember the day the chain of obsessive hand-washing broke. But thank God it did. I do know that I had to make an intentional decision to stop myself when I noticed the urge to reach for the soap whenever my hands were already clean. Clean. I had to convince myself that they were. Breaking mental barriers is insanely tough. It’s tougher than any physical duress or achievement I’ve ever endured. But incredibly, it’s possible.

I mean, maybe the chain hasn’t broken completely. Maybe it never will. For instance, I still find myself very aware of germs. I feel uneasy without my hand sanitizer. And when I’m in the kitchen I still catch myself rewashing my hands when I touch a different item (cross-contamination, the horror!). Or if I’m feeling particularly anxious, I’m more prone to wash my hands unnecessarily.

But it’s better. My hands don’t bleed anymore.

To this day, I still feel a slight rush of insecurity when I notice my dry skin on my hands. Or if they feel rough (as they do now, thanks to the sport that pulled me out of sadness). And now you know why.

I guess I write this as a challenge to myself to be ridiculously vulnerable. And to provide encouragement to anyone who has or is going through something they’re ashamed to speak of. I’m listening to Brene Brown’s Braving the Wilderness, and am completely captivated by her push for vulnerability. The other day, I saw an interview clip with her, in which she talked about shame. She said something along the lines of shame only living when it’s kept in the dark; when it’s secret. When you share it, shame no longer exists. It’s powerless.

So here’s to removing shame. We’re all human, which means we’re inherently complex beings. Writing things out helps me unravel, piece by piece, my internal complexity to myself. I encourage you to try it yourself. 💛

Peace and love,

smb