Joanne Robertson Facebook ad: “I seriously wish I found this 25 years ago”

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ADHD makes me pick my skin and I am so terrified of being seen that I haven't gone out in public without makeup since I was 13. I'm 32 now. That's almost two decades of hiding. It genuinely felt like my own fingers didn't belong to me anymore, like I had lost complete control of my own body. Hey you, yes I'm talking to you, my dear friend on the other side of the screen. Can you do me a quick favor? I want you to look at the hand that's not holding your device right now. If I'm correct, it's probably already picking at something. And tomorrow? You'll probably be canceling plans because of it. Don't worry, I'm not here to judge because that's the part that wrecked me my entire life. Yup, my entire life. Hiding from the world because of what I did to my own skin. If you and I were grabbing coffee together, I could talk about this for ages but I'll spare you the details. I've been picking since I was diagnosed with ADHD as a child. Oh I remember it all, in fact I remember it all too well. The rush I would get every time I found an imperfection and picked it right off. My heart racing like I had won a Nobel Prize. That is of course before I look up and realize I now have to figure out how to hide this from everyone. At the time it feels so good. And then I have to face the world looking like this. I NEED to stop. I KNOW I need to stop. And I can't. Do you know how many times I've called in sick because I couldn't face people after what I did to myself the night before? How many plans I've canceled because my face needed time to heal? How many times I've worn long sleeves in the middle of summer because I couldn't let anyone see my arms? I once had someone ask me if I was on drugs. That's how bad it looked. I wanted to disappear. 25 years of hiding. 25 years of being terrified that someone might see. That was my life until I finally discovered why I couldn't stop. And it had nothing to do with willpower. This one specific night is burnt into my skull as if it only happened yesterday. I had a date the next day. Someone I actually really liked. I told myself over and over "Do NOT touch your face tonight. You have somewhere to be tomorrow." I woke up the next morning and my face was destroyed. I don't even remember doing it. I must have picked in my sleep or something because I definitely didn't remember doing it consciously. I had to cancel. Again. I made up some excuse about not feeling well but we both knew something was off. He stopped texting after that. I don't blame him. I just sat there staring at myself in the mirror thinking "This is my life now. Canceling things I actually want to do because I can't stop destroying my own face." That was the night I decided I was done hiding from the world. So I did what I always do when I'm desperate. I went down a rabbit hole. Drained the last of my PTO and obsessively searched the internet for a way to finally stop ruining my own skin. After what seemed like 96 hours of having my butt glued to my home's office chair? I finally found her, sweet old Pennsylvania's best psychiatrist, Dr. Ruby Moore. I didn't even think twice, I scheduled an appointment immediately. Before our first session, she asked that we speak over the phone a week in advance so she could briefly understand what I was going through. I told her about everything I'd tried. The fidget toys. The acrylics. The pimple patches. The therapy. None of it worked. I told her about how much of my life I had missed because I was too embarrassed to be seen. All the events, the dates, the opportunities I said no to because my skin needed time to heal. The first thing she said when I stepped into her office? "This is not your fault. There's a reason you can't stop and it has nothing to do with willpower." 25 years of hiding from the world. 25 years of missing out on my own life. And here was someone who finally got it. What Dr. Moore explained next changed everything. "You know how picking actually calms you down? Like it's the only thing that works when everything else feels like too much?" I actually froze on the spot LOL (It was not as funny as it is now) How did this lady know me like she had cameras in my room or something? "That's because it does. You're not making that up. Your brain found a way to soothe itself. And it's not random." She told me women with ADHD have way less dopamine than most people. Like wayyy less. Dopamine is what makes our brains feel okay. Calm. Satisfied. When it's low? Our brains get desperate and start hunting for anything that delivers it. And guess what delivers? Yup. Picking. She said picking floods our brain with dopamine AND endorphins at the same time which is basically the "ahhh finally" relief feeling we all get after destroying our skin. That quick moment of calm we all love, of course right before we realize we now have to hide from everyone. :(( "You didn't choose this," she said. "Your brain found a solution to a problem you didn't even know you had." That actually made so much sense, that's why my brain keeps going back to it no matter what. However, I did not just pay this lady $950 an hour just to learn why I pick my skin. Ahem I may or may not have spoken too soon because what she was about to explain next made my stomach drop. She told me there's something in our brains called glutamate. Basically the "noise signal." It's the thing that turns a tiny bump into a screaming command you can't ignore. You and I have heard this command before. "SCRATCH OR ELSE SOMETHING BAD IS GONNA HAPPEN!" Normally, there's a pump in our brain that keeps the noise in check. She called it "System Xc-." Its job? Send a signal that activates our brakes. The brakes are what help us stop doing things we know we shouldn't. You know... maybe like picking our skin until it's absolutely destroyed? But here's where it gets bad. Every time we pick, we're damaging that pump. The pump needs fuel to work. It runs on something called cystine. And every time we give in to the urge? The pump gets a little weaker. Less fuel. Less power. Less ability to hit the brakes. So now we're stuck in a loop. The more we pick, the worse the pump gets. The worse the pump gets, the weaker the brakes. The weaker the brakes, the harder it is to stop. The harder it is to stop, the more we pick. You see where this is going? She gave me an example I'll never forget. "Think of it like a sled going downhill." The urge is gravity. It's pulling you toward picking. And there's no brake on a sled. Once you're going, you're going. You can't stop until you hit the bottom. That's us. We're on a sled with no brakes. The hunger pulls us down. And we have no way to slow down. So when the urge hits, we try to stop. We pump the brakes. Nothing happens. The urge floods in. Our hands move. We're already picking before we even realize it. Not because we're weak. Because our brakes have been damaged. And nobody told us. And all of a sudden? EVERYTHING started to click. That's why I can be watching TV and not even realize I've been picking for 20 minutes. That's why I can tell myself "not tonight" and still wake up with fresh wounds. That's why I feel like my hands don't belong to me. Like I'm just watching myself from the outside. She looked at me and said: "Every time you had to cancel plans because of what you did to your skin? Every time you had to hide? That wasn't your fault. Your pump was damaged. Your brakes were never going to work." As hard as it is to admit this? I'm gonna say it anyways, I broke down crying right there in her office. Because it finally made sense. I wasn't broken. I wasn't gross. I wasn't some weirdo who couldn't stop picking at herself. My pump was just starving. My brakes had nothing in them. All those years of hiding from the world because of what I did to my skin? I was pumping brakes that were never going to work. Then she told me something that gave me more hope than I've had in 25 years. "There's a way to feed the pump." She said when the pump gets the fuel it's been missing, it can start working again. When the pump works, it sends the signal. When the signal reaches the brakes, they activate. And when the brakes finally activate? The loud urge that practically forces us to demolish our own skin? It can become as quiet as a mouse. So of course I had to ask about everything I'd already tried. "They were never going to work." For $950 an hour, one would expect her to not be so straight up and forward (Eh it's whatever) "Fidget toys don't feed the pump. They just give your hands something else to do while the noise keeps screaming." "Acrylic nails don't feed the pump. They block your fingers but the urge is still there, clawing at you from the inside." "Pimple patches don't feed the pump. They cover the spot but the second you peel it off? You're right back at it." "Willpower doesn't feed the pump. You can't stop a sled that has no brakes. You can dig your heels in all day. Nothing's gonna happen." "And therapy? Therapy helps you understand WHY you pick. But understanding doesn't give your pump fuel." "None of those things fix the actual problem. They're all trying to stop the sled from the outside. But the sled doesn't have brakes. You need to give it brakes." I sat there thinking about all the money I wasted on stuff that was never going to work in the first place, I can't even explain the colors that were flying in my head at that moment. Dr. Moore must've seen the frustration on my face because she placed her hand on my shoulder (Just as I was starting to think this woman was heartless, just kidding) and said: "If you want a real chance at stopping, you need something that checks four boxes." "One. It has to feed the pump directly. Give your brain the fuel it needs." "Two. It has to help quiet the noise. So the urge doesn't scream so loud." "Three. It has to have real human proof. Not just theories. Actual women like you who got better." "Four. It has to be easy to take daily. Because if it's complicated, you won't stick with it." I left her office that day with one mission. Find something that checks all four boxes. I'm not gonna sugarcoat my journey at all. It took WEEKS of trying different supplements and probably over $700 burnt not including Dr. Moore's visit. But at last, I finally found something that checked all four. It's called Lyra. I take two small capsules a day, before breakfast and after dinner. Here's how it works. The main ingredient is N-Acetyl Cysteine. NAC for short. It's been used in hospitals for decades. Remember the pump that's been starving for fuel? NAC is how you feed it. When you take it, your body breaks it down into cysteine. Cysteine travels to your brain and converts into cystine. And cystine is exactly what the pump needs to work. When the pump gets cystine, it starts working again. It sends the signal. The brakes activate. Now when an urge hits, there's actually something there to calm it down. Think of it like finally putting brakes on that sled. The hill is still there. Gravity still pulls. But now when you dig in, the sled actually slows down. And it can come to a complete stop. You're not flying out of control anymore. How it checks the four boxes Dr. Moore told me about: ✓ Feeds the pump. NAC becomes cystine. Cystine fuels the pump. Pump starts working again. ✓ Quiets the noise. When the pump works, it can finally calm down the screaming urge. ✓ Real proof. A 12-week clinical trial published in JAMA Psychiatry found NAC users improved at more than twice the rate of those taking a placebo. ✓ Easy daily use. Small capsules. No horse pills. Now I know you probably have the same questions I had. "I've wasted so much money on stuff that didn't work. How is this any different?" Because fidget toys, acrylics, patches... none of them target the pump. Lyra does. That's the difference. "What about stress? That's when everything else failed me." Same. The second life got crazy, my hands went right back to my face. But when your pump is properly fueled, your brakes can actually handle it. The urge might get louder. But your brakes are strong enough to quiet it back down. Stress used to send me into a picking spiral. Now it's just noise I can ignore. Oh and before you ask, yes I made sure it's legit. Third-party tested and made in a GMP facility. I've been taking Lyra for almost 4 months now and let me tell you what happened. Week 1: Honestly not much, maybe a little less urgent but I wasn't sure if it was placebo or what. Week 2: Something weird happened. I was watching TV and caught my hand going toward my face and I just... stopped it. Not with willpower. It just stopped. For the first time in 25 years, I felt like I had a choice. Week 3: I went a whole day without picking. I actually cried that night because I finally felt like my hands belonged to me again. Week 4: My face started healing, like actually healing. No new wounds to cover up in the morning. Week 6: I was sitting in traffic, super anxious, hands free. Normally that's when I'd destroy my face. But my hands just... stayed on the wheel. I almost laughed. Month 3: I ran into someone at the grocery store and we talked for 10 minutes. I didn't think about my face once. I was just... there. Present. In control. I finally trust my hands again. I don't flinch every time I catch myself reaching for my face and I don't wake up dreading the mirror. And most important? I don't feel like a prisoner in my own body anymore. For the first time in 25 years, I feel in control. Not broken. Not trapped. Not hiding. Just... normal. If you're tired of hiding from the world because your hands won't stop destroying your skin, if you're sick of canceling plans because your body won't listen to you, if you're done feeling like a prisoner in your own skin... Give your pump what it's been starving for. You deserve to feel in control again. 👉 trylyra.co/products/lyra-true-calm-supplement-90-capsules P.S. Lyra has a 30-day money back guarantee so if it doesn't work for you, you get your money back. No questions asked. All in all? I wish I found this 25 years ago.

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trylyra.co

I seriously wish I found this 25 years ago

Lyra