When the Pain Is Too Great
Did you know March is Self-Harm Awareness Month? Self-harm, when someone hurts themselves on purpose, is often more common in women than men, and typically starts in teenage years. Self-injury occurs in about 5 percent of adults and up to 17 percent of teens. Rates may be higher among college students. Here, our board member Mel shares their first-hand understanding of self-harm. TW: This blog contains one person’s experience with self-harm and suicidal ideation. If you or someone you love is engaging in self-harm, help is available. Call or text 988 or chat 988lifeline.org.
This article is written by Mel Fielding (they/she), Yoga to Cope Board Member. Mel is a queer, non-binary, poly, MDD-girlie (non-gendered, cries a lot) in the process of obtaining their Master's in Mental Health Counseling & Wellness. They are super passionate about working with queer, poly, and gender non-conforming individuals to process and heal from trauma (both personal and systemic) and develop new ways of relating in the world.
It’s in my nature to talk about the things no one wants to talk about, I just usually do it through a metaphor or turn of phrase that could be interpreted in a multitude of ways. For example:
the poetry i write about myself
is unkind, my mind creating
reasons to hurt my own feelings
time after time
finding that my insides are
are flooded, muddied waters
building pressure
against tender flesh
always so sensitive
and when you open the floodgates
carved into my skin
do you see a mudslide
or a waterfall?
You see? In poetry, I can share the deepest, darkest parts of me so freely because the likelihood that you, my dear reader, will fully understand is pretty small. And if you do? Well, congrats! Though that means you’re probably also in the self-harm club, so it’s a bittersweet congratulations. I’ll try, for a change, to be clear:
I am a cutter.
I use the present tense because while I (mostly) no longer use the small blade kept in the bottom of my bathroom drawer, it still sings out to me as I write this. My arms and legs carry the reminders of what I have done in moments of deep desperation—at times to feel less overwhelmed by the emotions that threatened to consume me and other times to feel anything at all.
This is not meant to glorify self-harm. Those of us in the self-harm club don’t hope for new members. It's only in recent years I got through my shame long enough to identify myself in hopes that others may feel a modicum of comfort around their own scars. But living in a body deemed too large by societal standards had me internalizing a hatred so deep I felt it needed leeching from time to time.
I began cutting when I was 15 or 16, nearly 20 years ago now. Sweatshirts were already en vogue for me then as a fat girl in the mid-aughts, so it was easy to hide the little lines I’d etch into my skin in moments of crisis. My then undiagnosed depression, anxiety, and OCD had taken root. At the time, I instead blamed and retaliated against my body. What began as a punishment became a sort of salvation: No one can hurt me quite like I hurt myself.
At 17, I began therapy at the insistence of my very loving, very concerned mom who noticed some of the self-inflicted cuts in my skin. I was simultaneously reluctant and relieved to see Nancy, a gentle therapist about my mom’s age, who helped me understand the Big Feelings I was experiencing without making me feel insignificant or out-of-control. I was not deemed an immediate risk of suicide, so with some gentle coaxing after establishing trust (shout out to the great therapists out there), she got me to open up about the cutting a month or so in. Over the years before and since, many well-intentioned people have asked some gentle variation of the same question: Why?
My answer is often unsatisfying, because the truth is that it feels like it helps. Cutting may have started as a means of self-flagellation for a body I’d grown to hate, but it blossomed into a way for me to channel the emotional overload inside my head, too. When I felt the sadness deep in my bones, the physical pain served as a distraction from the emotional pain, if only temporarily. When my mind would race and the panic would rise in my chest, cutting would ground me back into my body. When I felt so emotionally numb that even staying alive seemed too hard, the pain felt like a relief and a reminder. It taught me that pain makes me feel more alive, when I can control it. or even more confusingly, that pain can feel good when nothing else does. But of course, this isn’t the full picture.
Self-harm is a tricky thing.
While there were times I had severe suicidal ideation throughout my life, my self-harm was never meant to be a means to that end. Instead, it was one way I had discovered, almost accidentally, to cope with the deep, seemingly endless emotional pain I was experiencing that my still-developing brain latched onto. And because it seemed to help, it was hard to let go of completely; it still is.
The reality, for me (and it cannot be stated enough that this is entirely my experience, and thus cannot be generalized across the self-harm spectrum), is I have tried and learned so many coping strategies through the years. Many have helped, many have not; some take too long while others feel instantaneous. And yet, my instincts in times of distress are still to reach for that little blade. The difference now is that another part of me chimes in with a coping strategy that is equally efficient, if not more so, than cutting. I try my hardest to listen to that part while simultaneously soothing the adolescent part that’s still begging to be seen. Mostly I am successful, though I will admit there are times where the allure of the blade and the noise in my head is too strong. But i no longer chastise myself and secret away my scars in shame. I remind myself we all learn to cope in ways that are sometimes harmful, and that to live is to continue to learn in moments that feel like setbacks. And then, simply put, I forgive myself for not listening to what my emotions were telling me or for using some other way to cope.
I’ve found healthier coping methods.
You might be wondering what those healthier coping skills are, and that’s totally fair—though I will caution that what works for me may be dysregulating for you. There is no one universal way to cope—nor should there be! We are all gloriously, beautifully, painfully unique individuals. To hammer home the point, there is nothing that ramps up my anxiety more than a guided visualization on a beach. I was recently in a somatics group (more on this another day) that started with a grounding exercise I quickly learned made me immensely sad unless I wiggled around and imagined dancing throughout. Different strokes and all that.
Nonetheless, I'm not afraid to admit the most efficient and effective coping strategy for me is a very hot bubble bath. Fellow tattooed water-lovers will understand the struggle that is the two-week period after a new tattoo where you cannot submerge it in water, and there was a time a few years ago when I had a fresh tattoo on an area of my body i could not avoid submerging (ok, it was my tush). I was in desperate need of a hot soak to soothe my sadness, and I just broke down crying into my partner’s shoulder, half shouting, “If only I could take a bath, I know I would feel so much better.” sigh.
But that was another way to cope: Reaching out to a loved one to help carry the burden of the pain. There is nothing quite like a bit of social support, and I'm very fortunate to have two partners, their partners, my cats, my parents, and a plethora of friends who I can lean on. Not everyone can provide support all of the time, so expanding my network of people (and critters!) I can reliably turn to has been incredibly valuable.
Letting myself cry, or occasionally watching/listening to something that can facilitate a good cry, sometimes does the trick. (Sometimes it doesn’t, but I never regret the cathartic release.) Reaching out to my therapist, Lauren, for a sooner or additional session always works, when I have the mental capacity to remember she exists outside of Wednesdays from 3 to 4 pm.
Sometimes it’s as simple as plopping myself outside and looking up at the sun like I'm a plant. Other times, I benefit from a grumpy walk around the block. Many times taking a brief dance break will interrupt a negative thought spiral. Writing out my feelings in poetry usually helps; sharing it with others is sort of a two-for-one deal. And sometimes good, old-fashioned distraction: diving into a new craft, looking at silly memes, reading a book, watching a movie, belting at the top of my lungs, hearing gossip, catching up with a friend, doing my nails is what I need.
A very long, very firm hug always works, too.
I’ve learned there are two wolves inside me.
But again, despite all these healthy and effective tools, the lure of cutting still wanders around in my brain listlessly. My goal isn’t to rid myself of the urge; my goal is to learn to consistently listen to what it is trying to tell me rather than impulsively act on it these days. I'm slowly healing the part of me that wants to cut one day at a time by offering it new suggestions and valuing what it once provided me. There are two wolves inside of me: one that wants to cut, and the one that gently rocks the first wolf.
When I was 20, I covered the scars on my arm with tattoos, but I don't think I will cover those on my thighs—they are reminders I did what I thought I needed to survive when the pain felt too great. Cutting soothed and relieved me in the moment, but it never grounded me. Connection with others (and of course my baths) ground me in ways that cutting never could. and I remind myself of this over and over and over again.
In an increasingly difficult world—given everything going on—staying grounded helps me to cope. Find what grounds you, whatever or whoever that is. We're in this together.
If you or someone you love is engaging in self-harm, help is available. Call or text 988 or chat 988lifeline.org. Establishing a support system with people including a mental health professional, a medical professional, and trusted loved ones can help support your recovery journey.