There are behaviors that seem like the problem, but are actually attempts at a solution.

My skin picking is one of them.

I started picking at my skin around the age of 11 or 12, when I began shaving my legs. Ingrown hairs became a point of focus, and I quickly associated that sensation with something that brought me relief. At the time, I had no idea what was happening. I didn’t know what I was feeling or why it pulled me in so strongly.

Only years later did it start to make sense.

Today I can describe with great clarity the cycle that was once completely automatic.

When my nervous system starts to activate—anxiety, boredom, procrastination, thoughts of lack of control—my body reacts before I do. My hands go straight to my skin. Without thinking, I start searching for any imperfection, any texture that can be “fixed.”

And then comes the focus.

A focus so intense that I can barely hear what’s happening around me. It’s like entering a trance. There’s urgency. A feeling that I need to finish something that’s incomplete.

And there is a strong sense of relief. An immediate mental and physical release.

But it doesn’t last.

Because soon after come guilt, regret, and shame. And the awareness that I am creating more marks on my own skin.

Throughout my life, one of the questions I heard most often was whether I had chickenpox. When I was younger, that was devastating. I did everything I could to keep my skin covered, because it felt like the scars spoke before I did.

During my teenage years, I even imagined that I might have to wear pants for the rest of my life. That maybe it would never be possible to go to the beach, wear a bikini, or feel the wind on my skin without thinking about the marks or other people’s gaze.

At that stage, it felt permanent.

Today it doesn’t affect me in the same way, but for many years those kinds of comments only fueled the guilt and the negative narrative I had about myself.

For many years, I tried to deal with this as an isolated problem. I went to doctors and tried different approaches, including alternative ones, but no one ever explained the cause to me. They only treated the consequence—my skin—not the behavior.

And that always frustrated me.

Because deep down I knew it wasn’t just about my skin.

What I didn’t know at the time…

I didn’t know that this behavior was actually helping me.

Not in a healthy way. But still, it was helping.

Today, after years of learning, observing, and trying to understand how I function, I can clearly see that skin picking is a form of nervous system regulation.

And that changed everything.

The human brain is always seeking balance. When we are anxious, overwhelmed, bored, or emotionally activated, the body enters a state of alert. This isn’t just psychological—it’s physiological. The body produces a series of physical responses signaling that something is off and needs to return to “normal.”

This state wasn’t meant to last.

So the brain looks for a way out.

Any behavior that reduces this tension, even for a few minutes, can be learned and repeated. Because it works. It brings relief. And the brain registers that.

That’s exactly what happened to me.

Not every problematic behavior is actually a problem

Many behaviors considered destructive are actually attempts at regulation.

Skin picking, nail biting, compulsions, addictions. All of them can share a common function: relieving an internal state that the body cannot sustain.

That doesn’t justify the behavior. It simply explains it.

And understanding this was one of the most important things that changed how I see myself. Because for a long time, I thought it was a lack of control.

But it wasn’t.

It was a system trying to regulate itself with available tools.

Understanding doesn’t solve everything

Few people admit it… but understanding doesn’t make the behavior disappear.

I still have episodes.

They are much less frequent today, but they still happen. And I know exactly when a wave is coming. I recognize the signs—high anxiety, internal pressure, perfectionism, overload, specific thoughts.

But once it starts, it’s still very difficult to stop.

There is also another reason why it is so difficult to stop this type of behavior.

I don’t always do this just to regulate my nervous system.

Sometimes I do it purely out of habit.

After so many years of repeating this behavior, it ceased to be merely a response to stress and became a deeply learned circuit in the brain. The brain learns through repetition. The more times a behavior occurs and generates some kind of relief, the stronger that neural connection becomes.

In simple terms, the brain begins to recognize this pathway as automatic.

That’s why, at times, the impulse appears even without a clear emotional trigger. The behavior has been repeated so many times throughout life that it has also become an ingrained pattern.

Today I know that this is a hybrid behavior.

Part of it is regulation. Part of it is learned habit. And the most curious thing is that when I catch myself doing it out of pure habit, I can stop and control myself, but when it’s out of regulation, it’s impossible to stop.

This is perhaps the greatest lesson I’ve learned over the years. Many people create escape valves to self-regulate, and although these strategies can be replaced or reduced, they don’t always disappear completely.

In some cases, they cease to be something to be cured and become something to be managed consciously.

What really made a difference for me

Trying to stop based solely on willpower has never worked.

In fact, it only made things worse. It brought more guilt, more frustration, and a greater sense of failure.

What changed was understanding that I needed to act on the entire system, not just on the behavior.

When I take care of my mental health, my body, my routine, my diet, and my overall well-being, the urge decreases drastically.

It doesn’t disappear completely, because I can’t control what happens to me. But it loses a lot of strength.

And some practical strategies made a big difference.

Using hydrocolloid patches, for example, is one of the most effective methods for me. Because it removes the visual and tactile trigger. If I don’t see the imperfection, I don’t feel the same urge to “correct” it.

In addition, I also created a post-episode care ritual. I use red and infrared light to accelerate wound healing and help minimize scarring over time. I also include niacinamide as a supplement because I’ve found it aids in the skin repair process.

This doesn’t solve the root cause, but it’s part of how I take care of myself today.

Between episodes, I also try to take care of my skin as much as possible. Moisturizing, using products that help prevent pimples, irritations, small cuts, or any imperfection that could become a trigger is part of my routine.

For those with skin excoriation disorder, texture matters a lot.

The more irregularities I see or feel, the greater the chance that the impulse will appear.

That’s why I’ve learned that taking care of my skin between episodes is also a way of taking care of my nervous system.

Things like cutting my nails or wearing gloves never worked for me. This showed me that regulation isn’t generic. It’s essentially individual.

The hardest part…

This is the first time I’ve spoken about this so openly and directly.

For many years, this was a taboo subject for me. Very few people knew about it.

That’s why writing this text has such a significant meaning for me. Only after many years of understanding my triggers, my patterns, and learning to deal with them with less guilt has it become possible to talk about the subject openly. And it’s also what allows me to see, from afar, someone who is going through the same situation.

This is an important part of acceptance. It’s not the total absence of the behavior. It’s having the possibility to exist without shame, to take control of how I see myself, to stop fighting against it and finally accept that it’s part of my story and my experience.

With an open heart,