The Best Kind of Support

My significant other provides me with the support I need to successfully overcome my picking. He has never asked me stop picking my skin. He has never reacted negatively to the way my skin looks; in fact, he rarely mentions my appearance at all. He cares that my skin picking bothers me, and I know he would be happy if I were able to stop picking. However, I'm certain that he will love me even if it turns out that I'm not able to stop. As a result, I'm able to be completely honest with him. I tell him when I've picked, and I tell him how I feel about it. I don't feel like I have to hide my skin from him, though sometimes when I've had a particularly bad session I will wear long-sleeves or pants, just because I don't want him to worry too much.

I didn't always appreciate my significant other's hands-off approach. In the beginning, I asked him to intervene when he noticed me picking. "Please stop me," I pleaded with him. He tried for awhile. He'd interrupt me and try to distract me. Even though that's what I had asked for, I hated it. "Leave me alone," I would snap at him. I think I even shut and locked the bathroom door on him a few times. I didn't want my concentration to be broken; I didn't want to come out of my trance and come to grips with what I had done. Sometimes too, when I started picking and he didn't notice, I would be devastated. I would do extra damage just to make him feel bad. When I came out of it, I would accuse him of not caring. "Look what I did to myself; you don't care at all," I complained. Luckily, this dynamic didn't last for long. My significant other is not the kind of person who accepts blame for something clearly not his fault. He stopped intervening, and I stopped expecting him to. I realized that my picking is my problem, and that I am the only one responsible for changing my behavior. It wasn't fair for me to take my frustrations out on him.

I know that I'm lucky to have someone like him to care for me as I go through this struggle. Even though he can't fix my problems for me, it's nice to know that someone cares about me, and accepts me as I am. Today while we were sitting on a bench in a local garden, I showed him my forearms. "I've been doing better, but I don't know if these scars will ever go away," I said. He quickly responded, "It doesn't matter, don't even think about it."