Pretty Nails Aren’t Essential, But They Can Be Important
By: Dakota Montgomery
Tags: Self Care, Anxiety, Coping, Nails, Mental Health

Photo by Element5 Digital on Unsplash

I’ve always loved nail polish, especially the stuff that comes in bright colours and sparkles. As a little girl, my parents would paint my nails for me to prevent the inevitable disaster that would result from a child having free access to a bottle of nail polish. Usually, it was my mom who would take up the role of artist but even my dad could be convinced to help out, especially when it came to painting my right hand. As I grew older and (slightly) less clumsy, I would paint my own nails and those of my little sister. Our Christmas stockings usually held a new, bright colour for us to try and we eventually amassed quite an impressive collection.

My mother was an incessant nailbiter from my earliest memories but it wasn’t a bad habit that I picked up until my early twenties. The first time that I chewed my nails down to the quick was only a few short weeks before I found myself in the hospital, begging for help with the incessant feelings of anxiety and suicidal ideation. Even now, periods of extreme stress are often marked by tattered nails and torn cuticles.

Much of my employment history has been working predominantly with men so it wasn’t until I started an office job, surrounded by other women, that I really delved into the joys of manicures. Men don’t really talk about nails unless they are asking me for a nail file that so many seem to think I carry at all times. But meeting up with the ladies from work at a local nail salon was not only relaxing but provided a bonding experience with the perk of pretty nails. When I swapped my office chair for a construction site, I stopped bothering with my nails for a few years. It wasn’t until I was regularly dealing with clients that I returned to the realm of French tips and sparkles.

I’m just coming off a solid year of having gel nails. The tipping point for me was when I was in a meeting and someone asked me what had happened to my nails. My demons had returned with a vengeance and I’d torn them all off in a fit of anxiety. This was the first time that I realized that the state of my fingernails was an external indicator of my state of mental wellbeing. More concerning, it told everyone else how not ok I actually was. I booked an appointment at a salon and kept it up. For whatever reason, I won’t tear up my nails if they’re painted. Only bare nails are considered appropriate fodder for my bouts of apprehension. Much like how my wrists became off-limits after I had them tattooed. Self-destruction is allowable, but defacing someone else’s art would be unthinkable.

I’ve tried most of the different polishes on the market, both off-the-shelf and salons. Obviously going to a salon isn’t possible right now so I have delved back into my big bag of nail polishes. My nails aren’t perfect, they are short with uneven edges and the frayed edges of my cuticles stand out in sharp contrast. In times of chaos, it is important to find the little things that you can still control. And it’s nice to have a bit of sparkle back, even if it’s just at my fingertips.