She’s Got a Lot to Chew On While Attempting to Abstain

Shabnam Mogharabi

22, graduate student, Los Angeles

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I bite my nails. That’s my bad habit, and I’ve tried everything to stop it. My mother concocted sure-fire recipes of the most wretched ingredients, which she lathered onto my nails, and I still bit them. I’ve tried lemon juice, pepper flakes, soap, bitter nail polish, Band-Aids, sitting on my hands, anything.

But I can’t stop.

Deep down I can’t bring myself to give up my companion of 12 years.

Biting my nails is neither healthy nor ladylike. It’s a child’s habit and a disgusting one, if you contemplate all the germs building up on your fingers and under your nails.

But it is also extremely comforting. Why? I can’t really say. Maybe it’s the rhythm of the chewing. Or the sound of my nails click, click, clicking against my teeth. Or, possibly, it’s the neutrality of the taste that gives me some warped sense of security.

Part of me wishes I could stop. I look at my worn, stubby fingers, ripped cuticles and jagged nails and detest my hands. I keep them folded in my lap and make a conscious effort to keep people from catching more than a glimpse of my gnawed fingers. Friends and family tell me that my image as a graceful, young woman is shattered when I start masticating my thumb. But I go on biting.

I wonder sometimes if bad habits aren’t necessary. If I didn’t bite my nails, would I chew my lip? Would I spend too much time at the gym? Would I smoke a pack of cigarettes every day? Would I go on chocolate binges? Drinking binges? If I didn’t hold onto this bad habit, what would prevent me from picking up another? They’re all nothing more than unhealthy but sure-fire stress relievers.

And don’t we all have bad habits? I guess in my case, the only person who gets hurt is myself--or my hands. I’ve tried to find alternate methods of stress relief. On my better days, I’ll play a Chopin nocturne on the piano to calm myself. Often, I’ll start writing and vent feelings through my words. Like this.

But there’s no substitute for the immediacy of biting my nails. If I’m in the car, late for an appointment, angry at traffic, contemplating an argument with my parents or getting a bad grade, only biting my nails takes my mind off those issues.

Sometimes I tell myself that the habit will pass. It’s only a phase. But what would I do in its place? I would need to pick up another habit. Having a habit gives me a routine.

My mother, in her efforts to mold me into a flawless creature, doesn’t understand that concept. It’s not logical, she says. It’s natural to want to improve oneself, she says. It goes against nature to bite your nails or work out constantly, she says. All things in moderation, she says.

My mom is a clean freak. I tell her that when she stops worrying about everything being neat and organized, I’ll stop biting my nails. She looks shocked, as if being overly tidy is perfectly normal. But I’m not going to stop biting my nails any time soon because I don’t want to. Whether I’m lazy or lack willpower, I have come to the realization that I can’t stop. I have a way to deal with that depressing realization--I raise my hand and start nibbling.