Lip Picking and Anxiety: The Mental Health Habit I Wish I Didn’t Have

The people who know me really well — and there aren’t actually that many of them — know that I have a couple of little habits that tend to give away how I’m doing. They’re my tells. The things that quietly reveal when life is feeling a bit too much, when my stress levels are creeping up, or when I’m not taking care of myself as well as I should.

Lip picking is one of those tells.

I used to bite my nails. Properly bite them. Until my mum came up with a genius plan and bribed me with the promise of a pretty charm bracelet if I could stop biting my nails, grow them to a decent length and actually look after them. It worked, and I don’t generally bite my nails anymore.

Although, every now and then, I do attack my thumbnail. My husband knows exactly what that means. If he notices that my thumb nail is suddenly much shorter than the others, he knows I’m probably having a bit of a tough time. It’s not a nice habit. It looks awful, it annoys me, and thankfully it doesn’t happen too often.

But my other habit? I’m a lip picker.

A really quite committed lip picker.

It’s a nervous, anxiety-driven habit that I’ve had for as long as I can remember. The frustrating thing is that it becomes a bit of a vicious cycle. Life gets busy, the demands on my time increase, and I stop looking after myself properly. My lips get dry or sore, maybe I catch a cold because I’m run down, and they become even more sore and cracked. Then I pick, which makes them worse, and then it takes a week (or longer) for them to heal.

Sometimes I can go for months without it being a problem. Other times, it becomes that horrible habit I know I shouldn’t be doing, I hate myself for doing, and yet somehow can’t seem to stop.

So when someone who knows me really well phoned me on Friday and said, “Let’s meet for coffee next week. I think you could do with it,” I knew she probably wasn’t wrong. Then, when I saw her yesterday and she handed me a little pot of lip balm she’d bought for me, I knew exactly what she was saying without actually saying it.

She’d noticed.

It was time to stop picking.

And perhaps more importantly, it was time to stop and think about what was actually triggering it.

Because the lip picking isn’t really the problem. It’s the symptom.

Everyone has their coping mechanisms. Some people drink more wine than usual. Some people eat more chocolate. Some people shop because it gives them a little hit of happiness.

Me? I drink far too much coffee and pick my lips.

It’s not glamorous. It’s not attractive. It’s sore, frustrating and honestly, a bit embarrassing.

I know I shouldn’t do it. I know people can see it. I know it doesn’t look great.

After Emily was born, when I was incredibly anxious and struggling with my mental health, I picked my lip so badly that I ended up needing antibiotic cream because the area became so sore and irritated. Looking back, that was probably the point where I realised this wasn’t just a random bad habit.

It was connected to how I was coping.

So, the self-care regime begins. Both physically and emotionally.

Physically, I’m being much more disciplined. I’m using lip cream and lip balm constantly, even when I’m wearing no other makeup. I keep it in my pocket so that when I get the urge to pick, I reach for the balm instead. At night, I put on a thick layer before bed because the less dry and cracked my lips are, the less temptation there is to start picking.

But I’m also doing the emotional work.

I’m taking on no more work before Christmas. I’m postponing or cancelling non-urgent meetings and social events that bring more stress than joy. I’ve asked my husband to confiscate my phone at night because I know I don’t need to be constantly available to the world, scrolling social media or absorbing everyone else’s noise first thing in the morning and last thing at night.

I’m creating more space. I’m saying no more often. I’m stepping away from situations that drain me.

And most importantly, I’m trying not to punish myself for having a coping mechanism.

Because that’s the thing about anxiety. It doesn’t always look like panic attacks or obvious distress. Sometimes it looks like picking your lips. Sometimes it looks like biting your nails, drinking too much coffee, staying busy constantly, saying yes when you mean no, or forgetting that you’re a person who needs looking after too.

My lip picking is a reminder. A little warning sign that I need to slow down, check in with myself and pay attention.

So for now, the lip balm is staying firmly in my pocket. And I’m going to try very hard to keep my hands away from my lips and be a little kinder to myself along the way.

Physical self care is a start, my lip care armor, always in my pocket…

 Lip picking for me is a sign that I need to regain a grip and work on not letting my anxiety overwhelm me.

I wonder if I will ever not pick my lips. Who knows? I don’t show many physical signs of a mental health struggle, but lip picking, if you know me well, is a sign that I am fighting that bit harder.

Anxiety does not define me, but it plays a part in my life. Where I once lived in a dark tunnel with flashes of light and life, I now walk a  more open path that’s much easier, because I can see who I am, and what carries me and what tries to make me sink. I haven’t mastered it, but I won’t let it master me. I don’t ask for a cure, or for it to go away, because I don’t want to spend all my days and energy wishing for different. Instead I choose to focus on what makes me strong, and what I know I can do, and the dangers that lurk for me, are mainly easier for me to spot and tackle, now, rather than letting them drag me back to my tunnel.