I am not what I once was.
Well, sometimes I fall off the wagon and behave as I once behaved.
But mostly, I am reformed.
I am a recovering nail biter.
When I was four or five years old, I was playing with my sister and a neighbor girl at the girl's house in Olympia, WA. I remember we were sliding down a slide into a kiddie pool. This girl's name was Andrea, (pronounced an-DRE-a) and she was first to tell me it was "bad" to hold up your middle finger. Which really has nothing to do with this story. By this age I was already an avid nail biter. Her mother saw me and told me I should stop biting my nails or else I would end up liker her-- unable to grow my nails, even if I tried to. They just wouldn't grow.
Her statement haunted me for years. I decided my cause was hopeless. I might as well bite them, because I was past the point of return. I had ruined my nails and they wouldn't grow anyway.
When I was about 10 years old my dad made me a deal. He would pay me $4.00 for any nail I could grown out long enough to see the nail over the top of my finger palm facing me. I couldn't do it; not even for the outrageous reward of $40.00.
As siblings often do, my older sister and I would play fight during church. I might draw silly pictures of her or pinch her. Yet, I was helpless for what she could, and regularly did, do to me. She wasn't a nail biter. She had claws. Five deadly little weapons per hand. She would dig into my arm with her sharp, long nails-- leaving crescent shaped divets. I had no defense,
When I got married I got acrylic nails put on for my bridal photos and the big day. They were beautiful and my sister said, "You have such pretty hands when your nails are long." It made my skin crawl to have them on. I bit them off on my honeymoon. Did you know you can bite off acrylic nails? Oh, yes, you can.
When I got pregnant with Clark, I was a new creature! I was inspired to be the best possible parent. What kind of parent doesn't have the love to discipline themselves to stop biting their fingernails?!! Not me! So I did it. For three months, while Abe and I were in Washington D.C. doing internships, I stopped. It was a miracle! As it turns out, my nails could grow and they were lovely. But it was not to last.
I returned to my gnawing ways. I accepted this "flaw" as part of me. I could make really good homemade bread. I always read to my children. I taught piano lessons. I regularly exercised and was a good friend. We all have shortcomings and this was mine (or one of mine). I determined I could live my whole life happily with ugly, short, jagged fingernails.
One day a couple years back, I was talking with a close friend, at her house. This friend is very well put together. She has her own struggles as we all do, but she always has beautiful, well-manicured nails. As I complimented her on her nails, I related my life-long struggle and acceptance of my nail-biting. Her husband, (also a good friend) admitted that he used to be a terrible nail-biter, but he had stopped a couple years previous. Now, I like her husband a lot. He is a teaser and a bit of a smart-aleck and a lot fun, and you have to stay on your toes around him.
What the heck? If HE can stop biting his nails, then I CAN DO IT! Perhaps a strange place to find my inspiration, but I'll take it.
This friend enjoys doing gel nails and is really talented. She offered to help me resist biting by putting gel nails on. Gel nails are basically really hard, really durable nail polish. At that point I would rather stick needles in my eyes than let anyone observe my nails close up. So embarrassing. I told her I'd be back in a couple of weeks (once my nails had grown a little) and then we could try it.
Friends, it has worked. With the help of my friend and gel nails, I no longer bite my nails. I have beautiful, long nails. My sister was right, I have pretty hands with long nails. An-DREA-a's mom was wrong and right. My nails can grow long, but probably break more easily once they are long. My dad still owe's me $40.00. I haven't forgotten.
But then again, When I was ten, I made a deal with him, that if he would give me a piggy back ride, then I would take care of him in his old age--- which old age I agreed was 45 years old. So I think we'll just leave well enough alone and I won't bug him about the $40.00.
The benefits of my nails? How is my life better because I now don't bite my nails? I feel powerful. I feel powerful because I have discipline and self-control. I said I would do something and I am (with the help of my friend) doing it. If I can master this comparatively small thing, I can tackle bigger things. My hands look lovely (or at least lovelier) and that makes me feel more confident. I like not feeling ashamed, or like I need to hid my hands.
Finally, I feel powerful, because now I have five deadly little weapons on each hand. I'm please to say I have not attacked my sister in retaliation for the scars she left on my arm. I consider that a sign of my healthy maturation. But in "encouraging" my own children, I had no idea how useful and effective slight pressure with a claw hand on the back or head could be. Yes, I feel powerful.
Well, sometimes I fall off the wagon and behave as I once behaved.
But mostly, I am reformed.
I am a recovering nail biter.
When I was four or five years old, I was playing with my sister and a neighbor girl at the girl's house in Olympia, WA. I remember we were sliding down a slide into a kiddie pool. This girl's name was Andrea, (pronounced an-DRE-a) and she was first to tell me it was "bad" to hold up your middle finger. Which really has nothing to do with this story. By this age I was already an avid nail biter. Her mother saw me and told me I should stop biting my nails or else I would end up liker her-- unable to grow my nails, even if I tried to. They just wouldn't grow.
Her statement haunted me for years. I decided my cause was hopeless. I might as well bite them, because I was past the point of return. I had ruined my nails and they wouldn't grow anyway.
When I was about 10 years old my dad made me a deal. He would pay me $4.00 for any nail I could grown out long enough to see the nail over the top of my finger palm facing me. I couldn't do it; not even for the outrageous reward of $40.00.
As siblings often do, my older sister and I would play fight during church. I might draw silly pictures of her or pinch her. Yet, I was helpless for what she could, and regularly did, do to me. She wasn't a nail biter. She had claws. Five deadly little weapons per hand. She would dig into my arm with her sharp, long nails-- leaving crescent shaped divets. I had no defense,
When I got married I got acrylic nails put on for my bridal photos and the big day. They were beautiful and my sister said, "You have such pretty hands when your nails are long." It made my skin crawl to have them on. I bit them off on my honeymoon. Did you know you can bite off acrylic nails? Oh, yes, you can.
When I got pregnant with Clark, I was a new creature! I was inspired to be the best possible parent. What kind of parent doesn't have the love to discipline themselves to stop biting their fingernails?!! Not me! So I did it. For three months, while Abe and I were in Washington D.C. doing internships, I stopped. It was a miracle! As it turns out, my nails could grow and they were lovely. But it was not to last.
I returned to my gnawing ways. I accepted this "flaw" as part of me. I could make really good homemade bread. I always read to my children. I taught piano lessons. I regularly exercised and was a good friend. We all have shortcomings and this was mine (or one of mine). I determined I could live my whole life happily with ugly, short, jagged fingernails.
One day a couple years back, I was talking with a close friend, at her house. This friend is very well put together. She has her own struggles as we all do, but she always has beautiful, well-manicured nails. As I complimented her on her nails, I related my life-long struggle and acceptance of my nail-biting. Her husband, (also a good friend) admitted that he used to be a terrible nail-biter, but he had stopped a couple years previous. Now, I like her husband a lot. He is a teaser and a bit of a smart-aleck and a lot fun, and you have to stay on your toes around him.
What the heck? If HE can stop biting his nails, then I CAN DO IT! Perhaps a strange place to find my inspiration, but I'll take it.
This friend enjoys doing gel nails and is really talented. She offered to help me resist biting by putting gel nails on. Gel nails are basically really hard, really durable nail polish. At that point I would rather stick needles in my eyes than let anyone observe my nails close up. So embarrassing. I told her I'd be back in a couple of weeks (once my nails had grown a little) and then we could try it.
Friends, it has worked. With the help of my friend and gel nails, I no longer bite my nails. I have beautiful, long nails. My sister was right, I have pretty hands with long nails. An-DREA-a's mom was wrong and right. My nails can grow long, but probably break more easily once they are long. My dad still owe's me $40.00. I haven't forgotten.
But then again, When I was ten, I made a deal with him, that if he would give me a piggy back ride, then I would take care of him in his old age--- which old age I agreed was 45 years old. So I think we'll just leave well enough alone and I won't bug him about the $40.00.
The benefits of my nails? How is my life better because I now don't bite my nails? I feel powerful. I feel powerful because I have discipline and self-control. I said I would do something and I am (with the help of my friend) doing it. If I can master this comparatively small thing, I can tackle bigger things. My hands look lovely (or at least lovelier) and that makes me feel more confident. I like not feeling ashamed, or like I need to hid my hands.
Finally, I feel powerful, because now I have five deadly little weapons on each hand. I'm please to say I have not attacked my sister in retaliation for the scars she left on my arm. I consider that a sign of my healthy maturation. But in "encouraging" my own children, I had no idea how useful and effective slight pressure with a claw hand on the back or head could be. Yes, I feel powerful.
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