Nose-picking No More

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Nose-Picking No More

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When I was little, I used to have a gross habit. I often put my finger up my nose to pick my nose. My mom would get so mad, she would yell and spank me for it. But I just kept doing it without thinking.

As I grew up into a teen, my friends noticed my bad habit too. They would tease me, saying mean things like “Hey pig-nose picker!” They’d pretend to stick their fingers up their noses and laugh.

Being made fun of so much finally got through to me. I realized nose-picking looks immature and weird to others my age. Their hurtful jokes forced me to become self-aware about this childish habit I couldn’t seem to drop.

After a lot of effort trying to stop, now I finally broken my nose-picking routine for good! I had to retrain myself to keep my hands away from my face. Whenever I catch myself starting to backslide, I remember how humiliated I felt when my “friends” mocked me.

Their teasing was a rude wake-up call. But I guess I should thank them for helping me kick this gross habit once and for all! I feel more grown up.

From as early as I can remember, I always had one embarrassing finger-in-nose type of habit. As a toddler, I’d dig for gold nuggets up my nostrils whenever I got bored or spaced out. My mom hated catching me wrist-deep on a nose mining expedition. She’d sharply yell my name, slap my hand, and remind me “that’s yucky!” But her scolding never stuck.

As an absent-minded kid, nose-picking became an unconscious habit, my go-to whenever I daydreamed. By age ten, I could expertly excavate nose gold, oblivious to how gross and immature I looked. At school, I’d mine my nose even mid-conversation if someone said something boring. By now, it was a self-soothing ritual I couldn’t seem to shake.

In middle school, the kid teasing began. My so-called friends cracked jokes like “Hey farmer, digging for potatoes?” or they’d offer me tissues announcing “The nose miner's strike again!” Their sharp words stung, but lit a spark of realization too. If I wanted peers to respect me, I apparently needed to stop manhandling my nose in public. Easier said than done after a decade of zone-out nose-picking.

I tried substituting nose rubbing instead, or sitting on my hands, but my fingers kept drifting back toward my nostrils like magnets to metal. Then came the high school locker room torment about my “tunneling nose worms.” That was the last straw! I knew to save face and finally kick this nasty habit, extreme measures were needed.

I bought bitter nail polish and applied it lightly inside my nose when compulsions struck, snapping me back to reality quickly. Slowly but surely, replacing, blocking and mentally scolding my sabotaging fingers every time they betrayed me, I retrained my brain and body. I haven’t picked my nose in over a year now. Thank god for the wake-up call of good old teenage bullying, right? Who knew harsh teasing could lead to better life habits?

Thank you for reading my post