This blog was originally posted by the TLC Foundation for BFRBs
Trichotillomania touches on all levels of human experience, from the neurological to the spiritual. It represents the interactions of brain chemistry, but also habituated physiological responses, sensory processing, behavior patterns, characteristic emotional states, perceptual styles and beliefs, and the sense of interconnectedness with others and the experience of faith. It is more than just a behavior, although it is most apparent when it manifests itself in that way.
Trichotillomania can be treated at all of these levels through different treatment approaches: medication, relaxation and response prevention, behavior modification, hypnotherapy, psychotherapy, cognitive therapy and visualization, group therapy and spiritual practices. The most effective approach will depend on the specific needs and circumstances of each individual at specific times, as well as on the compatibility of the personalities of the treatment provider and patient/participant.
In this article I will present my own view of treatment with a particular focus on how to understand and address the aspect of trance.
“Trance” is not a clinical term, but it is one which most pullers seem to recognize immediately as a significant part of the hair pulling experience: particularly when reading or watching TV. However, I believe that any time one is pulling, one has entered a trance state and that trance states occur with great frequency even at other times. To look at how to make use of this concept I will first describe what I think treatment needs to address.
Trichotillomania as a symptom: My approach is to look at what the behavior of pulling means to a particular person, and what it means about them. I view pulling as a symptom which indicates something about what is going on in that person’s life and can be best understood if we look at the context in which it occurs – both over time (how did it evolve), and ecologically (how does it fit into the network of the person’s relationships, commitments, self-perceptions, experiences of their own body and emotional states, etc.).
Symptoms are an indication of the existence of some other process. Just as a fever may reflect a viral infection, a repetitive behavior reflects an underlying mental activity. The symptom develops in response to the activity and one of its functions is to achieve some control over the consequences of that mental activity. I believe that trichotillomania indicates an attempted solution to a psychological challenge (or opportunity) one is facing in one’s life. However, it is an ineffective solution for two reasons. Firstly, it doesn’t alter the situation which has become challenging, and so the underlying causes remain unchanged. Secondly, by drawing attention onto itself it obscures those underlying causes. It distracts attention from them.
But the behavior, none the less, does have some purpose and utility. It relieves the anxiety of becoming too aware that there are challenges and opportunities which one feels unprepared to confront.
The role of emotions:
The mechanism which could be drawing one’s attention to these challenges and opportunities is the experience of emotional reaction. Emotions serve to amplify our perceptions of situations by making the good seem better and the bad seem worse. In that way, they lead us to focus on what is important to us so that we will take action. Being able to notice and interpret our emotions is something we learn as we grow up. Emotions represent a kind of language for helping us make meaningful choices as we engage with life.
But if these emotions were felt to be too overwhelming – if what they indicated felt too bad to be tolerated because we did not learn how to resolve the situations they drew attention to – then we eliminated them from our emotional vocabulary and we restricted our awareness of them. Now, when those situations reoccur, rather than notice our feelings of hopelessness and helplessness, we may turn to other mechanisms, more basic ones rooted in physical sensations, to occupy ourselves and restore some sense of order to the world.
So, in this model, the behavior of hair pulling is not an indicator of psychological inadequacy, but rather a lack of awareness. It reflects a split between awareness/thoughts and sensations/feelings. It is the result of an unknown mental process, something one has not been able to assimilate into one’s conscious thought, for which no words or language have been developed.
If this could be understood then I believe there would be less justification for feelings of shame connected with Trichotillomania, because Trichotillomania represents an underlying process outside of personal awareness, and thus is not something voluntarily chosen. (It would also answer the following disturbing statement frequently made to hair pullers: “You could stop if you really wanted to.”)
I have so far described how emotional activity and unconscious thoughts affect us in ways which we do not recognize. Despite this lack of recognition, we still need to adjust to them and regulate or organize ourselves. A good example of this is the way in which a fussy baby, if not picked up or fed when it wants to be, learns to get its thumb into its mouth and suck on it. It is finding a way to organize its reactions to its world by retreating into an attitude of self-sufficiency. In this way it solves the problems of the conflict it experiences between the emotions it feels and the lack of a way to take effective action about them in the outside world. It restores order by returning to a sensation-based activity which it has control over. It has learned to retreat into a trance.
The similarities between this example and the experience of hair pulling are striking. So how is Trichotillomania like a trance, exactly?
Trance:
The (Oxford) dictionary defines “trance” in these ways: a suspension of consciousness; a state of mental abstraction from external things; absorption, exaltation, rapture, ecstasy. Going into a trance is turning away from the world, suspending engagement with it, and entering a twilight zone of self-enchantment. The experience is one of being in between states: neither in one’s own mind, nor aware of one’s body. One has turned away, both from the rest of the world and from the rest of oneself.
It is a state in which one doesn’t think about what one feels, and doesn’t act on what one feels. One has turned away from the parts of the self which are concerned with action and purposefulness. In the trance state, a part of the personality takes over which doesn’t care about anything (except the act of pulling) and ignores the existence of time or consequences to one’s actions. It is the opposite of the perfectionist attitude so common to many hair pullers. Becoming entranced in the act of reading, for example, one detaches from the here and now, and allows this part of the personality to “come out”: while the cat’s away, the mouse plays. It is a secure, dependable, magical place in which one can avoid dealing with the stimulation of one’s spontaneous emotional responses to life.
If we look again at the role of emotions as amplifiers of perceptions, we see that what is happening in this state is that one is neither thinking about, nor acting on, what the emotions could be indicating. And as they indicate what is important so that action can be taken, the trance state eliminates the possibility of taking the action required.
How does this detaching process become chronic?
I believe it is the result of repeated experiences of failing to take effective action on what one’s emotions tell one is important. This failure can have many causes, but the result is that these important situations become perceived as challenging and threatening because they are felt as over stimulating. To protect oneself from discomfort, one disassociates from the situation. The part of oneself which perceives or feels what is going on is split off from consciousness. What remains conscious is the part which doesn’t feel and which preserves a sense of order and calm. Gradually, a gap develops between this external presentation of the self – as coherent, caring, positive – and an inner state of feeling confused, frustrated, and overwhelmed.
A false self develops, a self which appears to be more in control than is actually felt, and which one tries to believe in. The fear of having this façade penetrated adds greatly to the level of stress felt by hair pullers. Because this false self cannot be dropped when one’s gut reactions tell one to, one becomes trapped in a vicious circle that leaves one over stimulated (including the times when one merely seems to be bored), detaching from one’s body, and trying to regain control. A strong need is felt to reconnect to the body and feel grounded.
Trichotillomania as a return to the body:
The route to feeling in one’s body again is through becoming hyperaware and hypersensitive to sensation. This is a more basic and elementary experience of oneself: one cannot think or feel what is happening, so one uses a physical behavior to establish a link between unconscious inner experience and being in the real, physical world. This provides a solution to the twilight state of feeling detached. The sensation-focused behavior provides a substitute sense of being connected, and its ritualistic aspect creates a sense of soothing order rather than chaos.
So, looked at in this way, the act of pulling a hair actually represents the second stage of entering into a trance. The trance is triggered by the habitual reaction of disassociating rather than facing a situation which one perceives as overwhelming. But while an attitude of order and calm is being adopted (a state of “mental abstraction”), the experience of being detached from the feelings in the body becomes disorienting and the urgent need is felt to focus on the sensation of touching, playing with, and pulling hair. This provides the experience of concreteness and connectedness which allows the trance to continue.
Awakening:
What is needed is a process for regaining consciousness and turning back to engaging with life. How does one wake up? How can one build a sort of observational platform from which to watch the process of entering into a trance; one which can be separate from the process itself? I would suggest that rather than start with the ultimate goal of avoiding trance states altogether (which may be unreachable), a more pragmatic approach would be to learn how to wake up once one starts.
When we drive long distances on freeways and our attention wanders, we sometimes find ourselves drifting over into the next lane. If there were raised lane markers on the road, they would then alert us by causing a noise and a vibration as the car drove over them. That is the kind of alarm system we are looking for. It doesn’t prevent our minds from wandering, but it brings us back to the here-and-now experience before we get into trouble.
Such a system does exist: it is the sensation of a hair being pulled out. Once one hair is pulled, the opportunity exists to break the trance. That hair can be a signal to come back to the here and now rather than getting into the trouble of starting a pulling binge. (The goal of stopping at one hair pulled would also very likely include the benefit of making it much easier to commit to a realistic process of bringing the behavior within tolerable limits.)
How can one learn to stop at just one? Setting such a goal becomes much more possible if one understands one’s reasons for avoiding the goal until now. I have discussed in this article how Trichotillomania is a process which provides an attempted solution to an underlying tension. There is an inevitable anxiety about relinquishing a familiar, dependable behavior. A part of oneself therefore resists changing it and depends on the benefits it brings. This part has no intention of allowing any changes to occur unless one is prepared for the emotional experiences that follow, and it protects one from them.
A way to understand this resistance to change would be to think of the patterns of our behavior as a balanced mobile hanging from the ceiling. All its parts are interconnected and form a stable pattern. If we remove one of the parts, all of the others start to swing wildly until they settle into a new, substantially different formation. The intermediate stage of unbalanced, indeterminate movement could be likened to the feeling of overstimulation from one’s emotions when the ritualistic trance is denied.
To prepare for this change, an expanded awareness of emotional experience and what it teaches is indispensable. The remainder of this article offers some suggestions for work that can be done alone to expand this ability. This task is made much easier and more effective, however, when it is done in the context of a healing dialogue: either in individual or group therapy, or in a support group. This option deserves serious consideration because the act of communicating to another person helps bring one’s inner experiences into focus. Additionally, when there is the trust that the other person is willing not only to listen but to actively attempt to grasp what the speaker means from the speaker’s own point of view, the feeling of validation and recognition received makes awareness of the emotional states more bearable.
Reading the signals:
Part of the personal preparation which can be done is to establish intent to learn from what is found when one tries to read the signals. This would require a willingness to recognize that there are good reasons for what one feels rather than prejudging emotions as wrong, inappropriate, or proof of all the “bad” things one has come to believe about oneself. It also requires a willingness to feel discomfort, hurt, and vulnerability so that there can be a return to wholeness and the sense of being fully alive.
1. The most direct step is simply to ask yourself questions such as: What am I feeling? What is on my mind? Is something bothering me? What do I want right now? Is there something I should be doing? Special attention should be paid to the first answer that comes to mind, even if it very quickly disappears or seems insignificant. You should have an open mind and be prepared to be surprised. Before asking yourself these questions, stop the activity you are doing, if possible. If answers do not emerge the following techniques can be tried.
2. Let your body speak. Allow yourself to become aware of where you feel tension or discomfort. Imagine that that part of you has a voice and can answer the questions in Step One. Try asking follow-up questions to learn more.
3. Try exaggerating the physical state that you are in. That is, whatever movement your body is making or would like to make, take it to an extreme as if you were a very melodramatic actor or dancer who had no inhibitions. Again, think about how your body is expressing answers to the questions in Step One.
4. Visualize yourself as a child of about five and ask the questions of her or him. The answers should seem to be in the language of a 5-year-old. It might help to hold an object such as a cushion or stuffed animal to you as you try to make contact with yourself in this way. It also might help to combine this with some exaggeration of body expression. Additional questions you might ask could be: What do you need from me? Is somebody upsetting you? (See Reference 1.)
5. Write a question to the child, then switch your pen to your other hand and write the answer with that hand. You should write very quickly and with no attempt to make the writing more legible. Then switch your pen back to your original hand for a further question. Continue the dialogue, and the switching of hands, until no further clarification is necessary. The purpose of this technique is to facilitate the spontaneous flow of ideas. (See Reference 2.)
6. Write out the questions as complete sentences to be completed and complete the same question five times as quickly as possible. The questions would be rewritten as follows: Right now, I want….; or: I am upset because…. Allow any response to come forward. Often, a few unrevealing responses will be followed by one unexpected and more valuable one. (See Reference 3.)
7. Hold the hair which has just been pulled out and ask yourself: What did this hair give itself up for? A significant reason for the failure to stop hair pulling is the frequent presence of trance states, which enable one to deny the consequences of the behavior. Additionally, the experience of trance encourages one to focus on physical sensations such as the feeling of a hair being pulled, so as to achieve a greater sense of being connected to reality.
I have described how one enters a trance when certain situations trigger a habituated expectation of becoming overwhelmed. In self-defense one suspends consciousness of the challenge and retreats into a state of emotional detachment. The alternative to the trance, then, is to identify and assimilate the emotional cues about the situation so that appropriate action can be taken. The sensation of the first hair being pulled can serve as an alarm to awaken one from the trance and begin this process of self-evaluation and a return to an alert engagement with life.
Reference 1: Margaret Paul. Inner Bonding. San Francisco: Harper Collins, 1990.Reference 2: Lucia Cappachione. The Power of Your Other Hand. North Hollywood, CA: Newcastle Publishing, 1988.Reference 3: Nathaniel Branden. How to Raise Your Self-Esteem. New York: Bantam, 1987.
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