In 2014 I started to develop a weird problem on my hands. It started out as a bit of scaliness under my wedding ring. After a while, little raised bumps that itched like mad started popping up on the skin between my fingers. Scratching the itchy bumps would cause them to pop, and after a few days, the skin would peel. Eventually, this spread to my right hand, too. I became ashamed of how my hands looked, and I would keep them shoved in my pockets, sure that if anyone saw them, they’d be disgusted. I felt sorry for my husband when we were holding hands, convinced that my condition grossed him out.
I scoured the Internet for what this condition was, and more importantly, what I could do about it. I came across the term dyshidrosis, and it matched my symptoms exactly. Unfortunately, most of the accounts I read detailed people’s frustration with this condition. I tried plenty of home remedies that people suggested–aloe, vitamin E, vitamin C, and even athlete’s foot cream–all to no avail. There was one remedy, the most commonly suggested one, that I avoided from the start. The remedy was to stop using hand soap and dish soap. I resisted this because I had never had an allergy to soap before, and more importantly, I was a germaphobe.
The thought of using a public bathroom and not washing my hands afterward was terrifying. That year the public health scares of the moment were Ebola, bird flu, and MERS. I was terribly afraid I would contract one of those diseases. The idea of not washing my hands at such a time seemed irresponsible and irrational. But I was a desperate woman. I knew my skin was the first line of defense against infection, and I had to get it back to its intact state.
I had to face my fear of getting sick head-on. The first step I took was to arm myself with facts. I looked at the mortality rates and infection rates for all the diseases that were causing an uproar at the time. For example, ebola was especially scary for me. I educated myself on the probability that I would ever contract ebola. Based on the numbers, even if I had lived in West Africa at the time of the outbreak, the chances of contracting it were 0.123%. On the other hand, I was ten times more likely to be killed in a car crash in my lifetime (1.29% chance) here in America. I drove my car practically every day, even though that put my life (and by extension, the life of my children, my husband, and other drivers) at much greater risk. With that in mind, I stopped washing my hands.
The first thing I noticed was that I wasn’t getting sick more often than usual. I had assumed I would be sick constantly. Over time, I became more comfortable with doing the uncomfortable thing, which came in handy when I started doing other intimidating things like jogging when obese and going to the gym when obese. As I became less afraid of germs, I started to see how being a germaphobe had made my life smaller. Many times I’d avoid getting out and about because of whatever was currently going around, and I ended up spending too much time cooped up in my house watching TV and surfing social media. The more time I spent online, the scarier the outside world became. It was only as I started making myself go out in the world that I saw that it wasn’t so scary. I realized my germaphobia also ruined the times I did go out or go to family gatherings, because I spent most of my time worrying about getting sick, or that my kids would. I started making myself notice how many times we went somewhere and no one got sick as a result.
In the end, facing my fear of germs was really about facing my own mortality. The reason behind my germophobia was my fear of death. Facing that fear took a lot of introspection. One conclusion I came to was that I was afraid of dying because I felt like there was so much in life that I hadnât done yet, and in truth, had I died then, I would’ve had a lot of regrets. I was obese in the prime of my life, we didnât travel, and I was in a job I didnât enjoy, to name a few. I started to explore more of my fears, and sure enough, most of them came back around to my fear of death. Now, as a Christian, I knew I shouldnât be afraid of death. After all, when I die, I believe Iâm going to a much better place. Instead of allowing my train of thought ruminate on âBut what if I die?â I forced myself to follow it to the next logical thought: what if I died? Well, then, Iâd be in heaven, and from what I read, thatâs a pretty good place to be. After thinking about it, I realized my germaphobia was taking away some of my actual life in a tangible way. It also contributed to my stress eating, which contributed to my obesity, which could have shaved a few years off my life had it gone unchecked. That being said, I knew that God gave me a survival instinct for a reason, so I determined not to put myself into unreasonably risky situations. For me, allowing my hands to become more deteriorated was a bigger risk than taking a break from washing my hands.
My dyshidrosis started to heal and then completely went away, which took a load off of my mind. I found that I could use bar soap without an issue, as well as hand sanitizer, which made life feel somewhat more normal. Over time, I lost weight and started to enjoy life more. By the end of 2016, I began to wonder if I had really been allergic to hand soap at all. I started to use it again and even started doing the dishes barehanded.
As I write this six years later, my hands are in great shape and I’ve even kept my germaphobia in check, though I still have to work at it. I believe my dyshidrosis was in reality caused by stress. To this day, I can use all soaps without a problem. And for those of you who are wondering, yes, I wash my hands after using the restroom.
PS: A couple of years ago, we started full-time RVing. About a week into our adventure, my husband developed a rather severe case of dyshidrosis on his hands. He realized he was stressed out, but had been bottling it all up. He faced his stress head-on, dealt with it, and the dyshidrosis went away within a few days. You know, it’s estimated that about 75% of all doctor visits are related to stress-induced conditions. I believe it.
Recommended Reading: How To Stop Worrying and Start Living by Dale Carnegie