Sleeveless: A Note On Boundaries

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted on this blog.  Longer still since I started Sleeveless.  And years – nine, now – since I stopped hurting myself.  But now and then I’m still thrown by other people’s reactions to my scars.

Yesterday, two things happened that shook me.  In the morning, a woman on the Tube looked at my arms, gasped and said ‘ooooh.’  Then continued to stare at me until I glared back.  Even then, she kept glancing back at me, looking at my arms and legs.  (Context: it is extremely hot here at the moment!  I was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt).

Later on, I was outside a busy train station, preparing myself for the homebound journey.  I was already a little stressed.  Suddenly, the man in front of me turned around and said ‘oh god.  Your arms.’  I stared back at him.  ‘You must have been in pain,’ he said.  ‘I can relate.  I know all about pain.’  He then proceeded to tell me his life story, much of which was very, very disturbing.  He made a gesture to signify self-harm.  ‘It’s all about feeling alive, isn’t it?’ he said.  ‘That pain, how it makes you feel.’  There was an inexplicable emotional ache in my belly.

I backed off, mumbling something about needing to get a train.  As though I needed to apologise.  The man grabbed my arm.  ‘Keep smiling, darling. You’ve got such a beautiful smile.’  My smile faltered.  I got on the train and missed my stop.

These incidents really shook me up.  So my note today is short: if you are curious about another person’s body, don’t ask.  Don’t invade their space.  Don’t try to get them to explain.  You really, really don’t know how it might make them feel.  Think.

Sleeveless: 7 Years

Last month/ this month/ this season, marks 7 years since I last self-harmed.

I’m not writing this from the best, most positive place that I can.  I think that’s important to say.  It’s important to acknowledge, or to say, or to outright scream, that things are not always okay.  There are moments where being okay feels far away. Unattainable, even. Sometimes I’m sure I’ll slip back there again. I tell myself it would be easier. Sometimes I’m sure I’ll end up where I was before…

and then I don’t.

I don’t know how I don’t, and I’m sorry that this post doesn’t hold all the answers.  I wish I had a key to copy and give to everyone who feels the way I felt/ sometimes feel.  But maybe that wouldn’t work.  Like most (maybe all) of life, this isn’t a one-size-fits-all situation.  Everyone has a different lock.

As crucial as it is to accept that the world doesn’t work that way, it’s equally important to celebrate the successes.  For me, it’s 7 years “free” of self-harm.  For you, maybe it’s a week.  For someone else, maybe it’s an hour.  A long, difficult hour that feels like forever.  Sometimes 7 years feels like forever.  Sometimes I could swear it’s just a moment.

But isn’t it a beautiful moment?  For all its pains, failures, longings, successes…

Isn’t it a beautiful moment?

Sleeveless: A Note on Self-worth

This morning I went out running for an hour. On my way home I stopped to walk and stretch my legs out. I was standing on a corner of the high street when a woman came up to me. She reached out as if to put her hand on my arm. ‘You’ve had a rough old time haven’t you?’ she said. She was looking for a Western Union, but I didn’t know where one was. She told me a bit about herself. ‘I’ve got mental health and all sorts,’ she said. ‘But I’m getting there. Like you.’ Then she asked my name, told me hers, reached a hand out and shook mine, before walking off down the road. Like me, like so many of us, you wouldn’t know on sight that she had problems. You can’t anticipate what someone else might be going through, just by looking at them. It was a nice moment of connection, of acknowledgement, and I felt good going home, just because of that spark of recognition.

A Note on Self-Worth

As I mentioned, I was out running when all this happened. I ran slowly, occasionally remembering how fast I used to be and feeling bad. Then I tried to be kinder to myself. I have known so many people who respond to compliments by saying ‘yes but I used to be…/ I used to do…/ I was better at…’ I am one of those people. I always feel like I need to remind myself that, as a million school reports would have it, I could do better. Have done better. But actually the fact of doing whatever it is you’re doing: running, writing, throwing javelin (I don’t know!) is enough. So I am trying to measure myself, not by my past achievements, but by the things I do achieve every day. Sometimes that is as seemingly tiny a thing as getting out of bed on time, or going to the shops, or filling out an application form. Other times, like today, it could be a long run. I’m trying to stop chasing my shadow and live now, live here, live for what I can do, rather than what I could do ten years ago. Trying to let myself breathe.

Sleeveless: A Note on Belonging

I’ve written about LGBTQ+ experiences before, and I’m pretty sure I’ve written about loneliness. Here is a post that addresses the two experiences and how they interlink.

It’s taken me a long time to realise this, but when I started self-harming I was actually achingly, desperately lonely. It wasn’t that I didn’t have friends (I did) or a caring family (I did). I was lucky. Still, I recall trawling chat-rooms for hours looking for other people like me, people who could relate to the feelings I was having. I had an e-mail penpal from Trinidad who was struggling with bisexuality. I chatted to people who, in retrospect, were probably creeps (posing as teenage girls, but asking me questions/ making suggestions which were completely inappropriate). I hate to think of how this might have panned out today, of how those questions could have led to dangerous situations. I found myself in this position because I didn’t have an outlet, or someone I could trust with my secret, in real life.

In the same way that I tried to find a community of folx struggling with their identity, I also found a community of people who self-harmed. Sometimes this could be positive. I had some really supportive, inspiring conversations with many other young people with similar problems. I made friends. But sometimes it could be very damaging. I stumbled across pro-eating disorder sites, pro-self-harm sites, sites which actively encouraged self-harm as a lifestyle choice. I found some of my behaviours reinforced by others. Even when not actively sharing tips, people would comment “cool” on my posts, or I’d see that a poem I’d written had attracted a large number of views. And this made me feel liked.

When I was 16, I joined a youth group for LGBT young people. It made a huge difference to my life. The group leaders were good role models. The other young people went through similar things to me. We were from all different backgrounds. We talked about coming out, about how difficult things could be- but we also spoke about Eastenders and argued about politics and discussed clothes. We were normal people. Realising that gave me a sense of belonging and connectedness that I was unable to really feel with my school friends at that time. (I say that with no disrespect to my friends). I felt safe to share.

The self-harm and the dangerous behaviours didn’t stop. I was not magically cured by the sense of belonging. But something clicked within me, that has stayed with me ever since. I was not weird, or disgusting, or going through a phase. My sexuality didn’t have to be a painful secret. I was lucky enough to have an accepting family- all that remained was for me to really accept myself. And slowly, it was something I began to learn.

Sleeveless: A Note on Safety

‘Are you safe?’

It’s a question I’ve been asked many times along the way.  Meaning: ‘do I need to worry about you?’ or ‘can I leave you alone?’

Many people who hurt themselves have known, at one point or another, what it means to feel unsafe.  Besides anything else, it can be frightening to feel as though you’ve turned against yourself.  If anyone can protect you, it’s you, or so you would think.  When this protection is denied- when you are the person you need protecting from- it can be really scary.

For a long time, I put my own safety in other people’s hands.  I couldn’t see a way of protecting myself, because some part of me didn’t want me to feel, or be, safe.  Add to that the fact that my self-destruction also held an element of self-preservation: I often harmed myself in smaller ways to prevent worse damage. 

‘Are you safe?’

It’s a question I still ask myself sometimes, in darker moments.  But doing this- checking in with myself- makes me feel like I can be trusted with the responsibility for my own safety.  It’s not as simple as that, and my answer isn’t always ‘yes.’  At those times, I know I need to tell somebody else.  But maybe that’s the point: nobody is safe 100%, 24/7.  For me, it’s just about knowing there are people I can reach out to when I’m scared.

What makes you feel safe?  From others, from the world, from yourself?  It could be a particular song, or a place, or a memory.  It could be something that grounds you in the moment, like a sound or sensation or smell. It could be a relationship.

Catch that, and hold on to it.  Let it protect you, in whatever way it can, from some of the more painful thoughts or feelings, some of the internal and external dangers, and find a little space- a little safe space- just to be.

Sleeveless: A Note on Change

It’s my birthday today and in light of this, as well as the recent close of a year which, for many people, brought about some serious changes, here is a post about change and what it means to me.

For years, I lived with a strange relationship to change.  In some ways I loved it: I moved to Canada at 19 after working in a clothes and homeware store for a few months to pay for my flights.  I didn’t know anyone there.  I threw myself into life at the Global Backpackers Hostel, got a job in Tim Hortons (major Canadian coffee and doughnut chain), went on holiday to Cuba alone and came off all medication (health insurance didn’t cover pre-existing conditions).  It was a time in my life where I was rapidly changing, growing up, settling in to elements of my personality that I would keep.  At various points in my life I would “run away” like this, although never quite as far.  I even had a mantra: running towards, not running away.  I felt pretty secure in the notion that I was good at accepting change.

But I was also terrified of changing.  I encountered this fear time and again in therapy, teetering on the edge of ending my relationship with self-harm but unable to take the plunge into the unknown. I was often struggling so much, and desperately unhappy- but sometimes I found myself comfortable there.  I told myself I didn’t need to change, because I was content in my sadness.

And of course, there was one thing I couldn’t change: the scars.  They became a reason not to try too hard- they’ll always be there now, no matter what, so what’s the point?  When I was in hospital as a teenager, a psychiatric nurse told me “even on your wedding day, you won’t be able to wear short sleeves.”  This thought stuck with me.  Not so much the wedding side of it, but the idea that the rest of my life would be altered by actions I originally took as a thirteen year old.  The inevitability wore me down, made it harder to change because changing the present couldn’t reverse the past.

Learning that it was still worth changing the present was a gradual, often painful, process.  What it forced me to acknowledge was this: I loved change.  When it was in my control.  I chose to move to Canada, to Edinburgh, to Amsterdam.  I chose whether to cut my hair, or change my dress style.  I chose to make new friends.  But learning to address the feelings behind self-harm meant accepting that not all change is within my control.

I really hate being lost.  You know, that feeling when you get off at the wrong bus stop and find yourself in the middle of an unfamiliar street?  No landmarks to follow?  Can’t stand it.  It’s the worst feeling when your landscape changes and you’re not expecting it.  And that’s what stopping self-harm was to me.  All my usual routes were blocked, and all my landmarks were blurred by fog.  I was learning to be both intuitive (I had to navigate unfamiliar feelings) and trustful (I had to ask friends, family, and professionals, for help when I needed it).  And the whole time, I was wondering whether any of it was even worth it.

It has been worth it.  I can’t get rid of my scars- and sometimes I think now, that even if I could, I wouldn’t.  I can’t control things that have happened in the past.  But I can change the way I deal with my feelings in the present moment.  I don’t mean that anyone can always control their reactions to emotion, or that there’s some magical way of turning the urge to self-harm into the urge to do some colouring in.  But I have learned a few tricks along the way that have helped me make a big, scary, but positive change in my own life.

If you are struggling with the idea of change, think about what it would mean for you.  You can look at the pros and cons of changing a behaviour, and also at what it would take to change it.  It’s also worth remembering that you are way more than just a behaviour- you are a whole person.  So whether or not you choose to change what you do, it’s important to believe in what- and who- you are.  That is so far from easy (I’m still working hard on it).  But if there’s one thing I  aspire to, it’s comfort, not in a feeling (like that sadness I mentioned before) but in myself, in my own mind, in my own skin.

Sleeveless: A Note on Body Positivity

Me at age 3/4, feeling positive.

Recently, I was running through a local park. I was doing interval training, so at some point I stopped to walk for my rest period. A random man came up to me.

Man: What happened to your arms?

Me: Nothing.

Man: Not nothing. What happened?

Me: I don’t really want to talk about it.

Man: Is it something cultural?

Me: No.

Man: Then what?

[sports watch beeps]

Me: I have to run.

Later on, I ran past him. He shouted “Keep going, you look so nice!”

Sleeveless: A Note on Body Positivity

Running in the same park the other day gave me some time to think about what “body positivity” means.

Over the years, I have seriously struggled with my body image. It’s not something I tend to talk about much, because I find it difficult. There are whole years of my life during which I severely restricted my eating, hitting my lowest point around 2011. After that, I thought I had capital-R Recovered from that part of my life, but even in the years that followed it was something I found really difficult.

One thing that makes it especially hard is the excess of positive reinforcement around losing weight. This can come from the most well-meaning sources. But I try never to say “thanks” when somebody tells me I have lost weight, because I don’t think it’s something I should be grateful for.

A lot of people have difficulties with their body image/ self-esteem. It can be a motivator for self-harm. I remember feeling at times that my body deserved punishment for not living up to the impossibly high standards I had set for it. I remember feeling guilt for not loving my body, because all things considered, it is something I should be- and am- really grateful for.

The other day, running in the park, I felt as though I was starting to embrace my body just that tiny bit more. It was a hot day, so I was wearing short sleeves. Leggings, because they are comfortable to run in. I was running, not only to lose weight (I cannot pretend it isn’t a motivator), but because I really, really enjoy it.

So yes, creeps in the park will continue to creep around parks. And I will likely continue to have trouble accepting my body, scars and shape, for quite some time. But I celebrate those moments before I catch myself, where I am running freely, where I am comfortable in my skin. I celebrate the confidence that is slowly, so slowly, starting to take hold.

Because I still struggle with it heavily, I can’t pretend I have any great advice for someone else struggling with their body image. The only thing I can say is this: have hope. Have hope that you’ll experience a moment like I did, where you sit comfortably in your body, even for a second. Have hope that those moments become more frequent. Thank your body for what it can do, but don’t guilt yourself for not feeling more grateful. Do the things that make you feel good about yourself.

Sleeveless: a Note on Addiction

I’ve started a new job, and learned pretty quickly to brave it sleeveless. I thought I should jump right in, before it became a big deal and I got increasingly nervous about doing it.

A Note on Addiction

There’s some debate as to whether or not self-harm is an addiction. In its strictest definition, addiction means “physically and mentally dependent on a particular substance.” But I’m not really writing to weigh in on that debate, just (as usual) describing my personal experiences and hoping it helps someone.

People in recovery, e.g. from drugs, often say that as well as the physical and psychological cravings for the substance, the behaviour surrounding the addiction played a huge part. For example, I knew someone who spoke about not being able to look at teaspoons in the same way while she was in recovery from heroin addiction. I knew someone else who said that when giving up smoking, the hardest part was trying to work out what to do with his hands instead of rolling cigarettes.

A lot of the behaviour that goes with addiction is also the behaviour of secrecy: lying, going to lengths to secure a high, pretending things are ok. I recognise this as well. I remember, at first, learning to cover marks with hair bands or bracelets. As things got worse, I learned to keep my sleeves pulled right down to my hands, or wear looser clothes so that the bandages didn’t make my arms look bulky.

I think that one of the saddest things about addiction to anything is that at some point the behaviour was a useful coping mechanism. Long after it ceases to be helpful- even as it starts to ruin your life- you feel the same need for it as if it were still a lifeline. When you think about it, this isn’t surprising. How can you give up something that, while becoming increasingly useless, has also become a way of life? I learned that all these things: the secrecy, the behaviour itself- were part of a larger picture that I thought was a picture of my life. Actually, it was a picture I had painted to make sense of my life, as it seemed increasingly random and out of control.

Self-harm may or may not be an addiction in the “true” sense of the word, but for me it certainly felt like one for a very long time.

Listen, though: addictions can be broken. It’s really, really, really hard. Many people struggle for years and years- and continue to struggle for years after the actual behaviour has stopped. It’s a continuous process. I used to think it was pointless… why put in all the effort to stop when you might still want to self-harm anyway? Why use distraction techniques? Isn’t that just hiding or shifting the problem? I’ve come to see that among other things, the “point” lies in less damage being inflicted- that it’s about being truly in control.

It’s hard. But please don’t let this put you off; the vast majority of people who have been through it will tell you it was worth it.

Sleeveless: A Note on Triggers

(A path out of the woods)

I’ve been working as bank staff at my old workplace. As I’ve mentioned before, my workplace was (/is) a mental health service.

Wednesday

Resident: Can I talk to you?

Me: Of course.

Resident: Why do you have a different vibe to everyone else here? Is it cos you’ve had your own problems? I know. I saw your arms.

Friday

(Different resident)

Resident: (looks at my arms) Have you been in hospital yourself and that’s why you want to do this job?

Me: Actually yeah.

Resident: That’s nice, you know. That’s very good.

My scars wrong-foot people. They immediately make people, whether residents or professionals, question my position in the service; I have seen this happen so many times. The slow-blink when I introduce myself to a professional, the wide-eye when I do so to a resident. Surprise and then, usually, hopefully, acceptance.

A Note on Triggers

It’s been five years since I stopped self-harming, but I am not immune to triggers. The first few times I tried to stop hurting myself, I was extremely sensitive: a TV show featuring self-harm, a particular song, even a change in weather, could bring me back to a memory of self-harming. This could then lead me to hurt myself. Truthfully, I don’t know what was different this time; why I have been able to resist triggers. But however well I have learned to cope with them, they remain a fact of life.

Resisting triggers, especially at first, is really, really, really hard. For me, now, it’s a matter of being able to separate a particular scene or situation from myself. Example: someone shows me their fresh injuries. I have to check myself, remind myself that that person is not me, their injuries are not my injuries and their reasons for self-harming are not my reasons. I have to be honest with myself about the fact that I have been triggered by the situation, and at the same time accept that I am not in the same place as the other person. And all of this has to happen in a matter of minutes.

It’s particularly hard if, like me, you are someone who tends to empathise/ identify with other people and their feelings, because you also have to take yourself out of their shoes before you can move on.

So I’m not going to say that I am in the best position to give advice, or that my advice will help. But here are some thoughts/ ideas on how to resist self-harming when triggered:

• If it is safe or practical, remove yourself- even if only briefly- from the situation. If it is a TV programme, leave the room or pause it to catch your breath before continuing. If it is a real situation, and you are faced with a real person, consider whether it is safe to leave them long enough to, say, make them a cup of tea. This is both caring for them, and safe for you.
• Think of the ways in which your situation is similar and different to the situation you are presented with. Maybe you identify with some elements of a person’s story. Embrace that. It makes you who you are. But figure out what has put you in a different position from them at this exact moment in time.
• If the trigger is something non-concrete (for me, it could be as simple as a particular scent in the air that reminds me of hospital, for example), you can either think about why that is, and try to move on, or think about it in a different way (could that particular scent also remind you of eating an ice lolly? Could you eat an ice lolly?)
• Use any list of distraction techniques at your disposal. I am not going to suggest any because what’s helpful varies drastically from person to person.

I hope these help a little bit, and try to remember that however scary it is, however wildly out of control things seem, you always have at least one of the answers in your head, at least some of the power in your hands. And if you don’t manage to “beat” the trigger? You’re not weak. You are strong for every split second you tried to resist.

Sleeveless: A Note on Embarrasment

(Photo: me, reflected in the frame of an oil drawing I made).

At a shop near my house, there is a security guard who really likes me. He’s an older gent, and always calls me “a very nice lady.” Yesterday, after a run, I went into the shop with my sister, wearing a T-shirt.

We exchanged our normal chit-chat for about 2 minutes before he noticed my arms.

“What happened?” he asked.

“It’s a long story,” I told him, politely but pointedly- to which he proceeded to ask me an exceedingly long string of questions including, inevitably, “why did you do this? Will you tell me your long story someday?”

My sister and I agreed that he was pretty harmless, more curious than anything else, and meant no harm… but it did make me think a bit about how people see me, before and after seeing the scars. Whether their opinions change and to what, from what? It also made me wonder why, in some circumstances, I feel so embarrassed by them.

A Note on Embarrassment

Sadly, for anyone with something different about them (which is to say, everyone) embarrassment is more or less a given at sone point in their life. Weight/ height/ hair/ whatever-you-can-think-of, are all things that cause all kinds of people to feel embarrassed.

For me, when I think about my scars, I do sometimes feel embarrassed. With the benefit of hindsight, sometimes self-harm doesn’t seem like the most sensible route to have taken. But at the time, it helped, and knowing this helps me to accept it.

Acceptance is not a cure-all. My scars are something I have come to terms with and I no longer feel shame when I see them (shame can have its whole own blog post!) Now that I am in the process of forgiving myself for the damage I have done, I am no longer seized by guilt at the thought of them. (Again- guilt can have its own post!) But that doesn’t mean that sometimes, at moments like yesterday’s run-in, I don’t feel an acute jolt of embarrassment about them. There may always be moments like this- but I am determined they will not run my life anymore.

If you have scars… if you never show them, or if you are showing them for the first time… they may make you feel that way. But it gets better.

Gradually, it does get better.