In the latest installment of her monthly column, writer and author, Beth McColl – author of ‘How to Come Alive Again’ – explores non-suicidal self-harm. There will be no graphic descriptions of self-harm nor of open or healing wounds. However there will be some reference to the motivation behind her own self-harm that may be triggering. Most young people engaging in non-suicidal self-harm are not likely to go on to make a suicide attempt, but self-harm can be an indicator of future suicide attempts. If you’re struggling with self-harm or need someone to talk to, you can call the Samaritans for free in the UK on 116 123.
I recently went on holiday to Greece. Before flying home I spent a few days alone at a nice hotel, napping poolside, eating two chicken gyros a day and using my book as a beer mat. One evening I was sitting up on the roof terrace finishing some work, when a woman approached me. She was polite, apologised for both the interruption, and for what she was about to say. ‘Our daughter- she’s had a really difficult few years. She doesn’t take her shorts or top off because of her scars, but she noticed yours and she said she’d like to be able to do that.’ The woman and I talked for a while. I told her that I had also been a young person in the midst of a difficult few years, that I had self-harmed in secret for years before I was able to stop, and that I was now an adult woman who knew she wouldn’t ever start again. It was a really nice conversation and I was glad to be of help, even if it was entirely accidentally and with absolutely no effort on my part (the ideal way to be helpful, imo).
Sadly, exchanges about self-harm scars are not always as respectful. I’ve had friends be challenged to explain them in public. They’ve been met with undisguised looks of pity or disgust or curiosity. The summer clothes may be being packed away now for many of us, but it’s never a bad time to remind people to act decently when it comes to other people’s self-harm scars. Let it be unremarkable that someone with a scar may choose to wear an outfit that doesn’t conceal it. Let it be entirely none of your business.
It’s nice to pretend we live in that world already, where anyone’s body can exist exactly as it is without derision or probing or inappropriate interest. And it’s nice to have arrived at a place in my own journey where I no longer feel secretive about my scars, nor vigilant about hemlines, terrified of swimwear, panicked about warm weather. For so many years I was the girl who didn’t want to take off the layer, to reveal more skin, to get into the water. Now I’m able see my self-harm scars and to have them seen by others and it doesn’t faze me in the least. If someone is respectful and I feel like it, I’m happy to tell them more, that I was the one who gave myself the scars, that I was very ill as a young adult, that I had a difficult time emotionally and believed this was the only available option. I tell them I feel mostly neutral about them now; neither ashamed nor celebratory. I don’t laud them as evidence of my survival, call them battle scars or display them on social media, but nor do I make any effort to cover them or pretend they aren’t exactly what they are.
My lack of shame doesn’t mean there aren’t days when I wish my scars away. Or perhaps more accurately, I want to wish away those years spent stuck in the belief that there were no other options available to me. I wish to have been spared both the shame, the physical pain and the permanent marks and instead to have received proper and ongoing support, learning healthy tools under the guidance of patient and informed professionals. I see now that the real shame is in the fact that I felt I had such a limited menu of other options. It’s in the fact that so much of what is really true about mental illness remains in the shadows. Discussions of self-harm and suicide absolutely need to be handled carefully and with an understanding of the potential for being glamourising or triggering, but they still do need to be had. So many conversations about mental health still stall at polite thresholds- temporary low moods, anxiety that eases with a few lifestyle tweaks, post-natal depression that doesn’t impair the ability to keep up with life as normal. Anything more severe or chronic is still pushed to the periphery.
I’m extremely glad that I no longer self-harm. It was restrictive and risky, an externalising of how bad I felt inside. I don’t need to look to my scars to be a reminder that I survived. Instead, I look outside of my body, at everything I’ve done since I was able to stop. I’ve learned to regulate my emotions more healthily, to extend a protective instinct to all parts of myself. I travel. I set healthy boundaries. I allow myself safe routes out of emotionally taxing situations. I tell people when things are bad, understanding that doesn’t make me bad. I’m kind to my body. I accept it as it is. I dress how I want. I move it joyfully, freely. I put on the swimming costume and I get in the water.
