A story about my teeth

And the consequences of harshness

Ellie Nova

Apr 02, 2025

Every time I go to a new dentist, they always point out the same things.

‘Your canines are worn right down,’ they say. ‘Do you grind your teeth at night?’

‘I used to,’ I say, ‘But I don’t anymore.’

‘Are you very stressed?’ they say.

‘I used to be, yes,’ I say.

‘And your gums have significantly receded,’ they say.

‘I know,’ I say. ‘I used to brush my teeth too hard…’

‘You need to be more gentle when you brush your teeth,’ they say.

‘I know,’ I say. ‘I am - now,’ I say. ‘Don’t worry. I’m much more gentle now.’

You see, for years I scrubbed my teeth so hard when I brushed them that I scrubbed part of my gums away. The roots of my teeth are visible because of it. It’s irreversible damage.

And this is all because for years I thought that aggressively brushing my teeth was the right thing to do. I thought harshness and hardness was how I should treat myself; how I should treat my body.

This was the tip of the iceberg in terms of the physical cruelty I was inflicting upon myself, but it’s the most visible. The most lasting, probably. That, and the fine white scars on my wrists.

Next to those little lines are some words I had tattooed on my arm a few years ago.

They are based on an idea shared with me by a Buddhist man named Jimmy who I went to for acupuncture in the hope it would cure me of my despair.

‘I’m not strong,’ I told him. ‘In my family, I’m supposed to be strong. But I’m weak… I’m a failure.’

He asked me to look outside the window at the towering horse-chestnut trees in the carpark.

'The trees that appear strong,’ he said, ‘Will break in the storm. The ones that seem to be weak are actually the ones that can bend, and will survive the storm.’

So now, on the inside of my left arm, I can read these words as a reminder:

The trees that bend with the wind will last the storm.

A reminder to be gentle with myself. A reminder of the hidden power of softness. A reminder of the power of love.

The words are inspired by this verse by Taoist philosopher Lao Tzu, written 2,400 years ago in the Tao Te Ching:

When first born, we’re small and weak;
The living are soft and flexible.
When we die, we become hard and stiff;
The dead are rigid, unmoving.
The greenery - grasses, plants and trees
Growing are tender and supple,
Dead are dry and brittle.
And so the strong and hard
Go along with dying;
The open to change and flexible with living.
When an army becomes inflexible,
It suffers defeat.
A tree that won’t bend
Easily breaks in storms.
The hard and strong will fail,
The open-hearted prevail.

I go to the dentist regularly now, by way. I didn’t go for years - when I was scrubbing my gums away. That’s also indicative of how I wasn’t taking care of myself.

I have learned - no, I am still learning - to be gentle with myself. To feel safe to be gentle with myself. To know that harshness and punishment may get results (my teeth were clean, after all) but with negative consequences.

Speaking harshly to a child, criticising and punishing them, may make them an obedient high-achiever, but that child may grow up to be an adult gripped by anxiety and fear of failure. Self-hatred, even. And perhaps that child will become an adult who drinks alcohol to try and escape that harsh, critical voice that they now carry with them every day.

And maybe they will try to quit drinking by shaming themselves. By gritting their teeth and using willpower. And maybe it won’t work.

I have come to know that the part that wants to be cruel to us, that wants to shame us, that speaks to us with harshness, that tells us we need to toughen up, is trying to help. It seems horrible, but it is also innocent.

We internalise the voice of our caregivers that spoke to us when we were children. Our parents teach us - often unconsciously - what they themselves had to learn to survive. The cruel and harsh voice I had (still have sometimes) was the voice my mother used for me, but it also must have been reflective of the way she spoke to herself. She believed that toughness had got her through her childhood. She believed that I, too, had to learn to toughen up.

I had to learn - no, I am still learning - to meet that critical part with love. It is, after all, a part of me. An innocent part of me, trying to help. I am learning to say hello to it. To say thank you for trying to help. I love you.

These are words that maybe my mother never heard. Maybe she never was able to speak them to herself. I feel a wave of compassion and hope knowing that, when I speak to that part with love and kindness, I speak to my mother in that way too. To that young, frightened part in her that didn’t feel safe to soften.

Now, over many, many years of practice, I now have another part, another voice, that comes through clear and strong. A voice that speaks gently and lovingly to me. That sees how hard I try. That gathers me in hug. That says:

It’s OK.
I know, this is hard.
You’re hurting.
I’m here.
I love you.
Always.

That’s the part that allows me to feel safe to treat myself with gentleness.

Some reflections for you…

Next time you notice that critical part of you, notice what it says. Does it often say the same things? What do you think it really needs? Perhaps it wants to be acknowledged. Perhaps it wants to know you’re listening. Perhaps it feels afraid for you, and wants to feel reassured that you are safe.
When you notice yourself being hard on yourself, can you take a moment to see if a kinder way of talking to yourself is possible? Perhaps put a hand on your heart. See what happens when you say: this is really hard right now. This is a moment of suffering for me. Can I be kind to myself in this moment? Can I be gentle?

Where could you be more gentle to yourself in your life? I’d love to know. Please do share with me in the comments.

If you’re new here - welcome. I’m so grateful to you for reading my words. I’m Ellie: a sober coach, mentor, mother and writer. I’ve been sober since December 2019 and am grateful every day for the gifts of living alcohol-free.
In A Little Fantastic Sober Life I share personal stories, supportive practices and information about alcohol to support you on your sobriety journey.
I run free workshops and provide 1:1 sober coaching via Zoom.
If you would like support on your own journey with 1:1 sober coaching you can find out more on my website.