From the surrounding bathroom decorations to its rose-colored debut to my racing thoughts, I vividly remember the moment when I noticed my first pimple.
At such an impressionable age, my scarce knowledge of acne was extracted solely from American Girl's The Care and Keeping of You picture book. "Honey, I bought this for you!" my mom squealed, handing me the publication. While at first embarrassed, envisioning my mother forcing me to read it with her, I eventually was able to woman up and take a peek into the book (with my door locked, of course). In summary, it highlights the transformations that budding women experience throughout puberty by providing family-friendly explanations and how-tos. As I admired the elated American Girl Dolls applying deodorant and purchasing cotton underwear, I could not help but feel eager. How much longer do I have to wait until that happens to me? When will I become a woman? So, when I first felt that minuscule, oh-so feminine bump on my face, I was overjoyed. I am finally a woman!
Oh, Emily. Look how innocent you were.
If I had known then that that moment served as the inauguration of my decade-long battle with acne, I probably would not have been as overjoyed. The Care and Keeping of You illustrates acne as a one-and-done deal, rather than as a potential lifelong hindrance. It simply states that as long as you eat healthy and keep your grimy hands away from your face, you will never deal with acne. Thus, you can imagine my frustration when I followed those instructions religiously, yet continued to breakout.
Once middle school hit and I began comparing my skin to others', my insecurity blossomed. I felt like I was the only 13-year-old who was struggling with acne. I did not understand how my friends could sleep with their makeup on and wash their faces once every two days, and still have flawless skin. I, on the other hand, had to follow a rigorous skincare routine just to keep my acne under control. "How is this fair?" I would ask. "Life isn't fair," my dad would respond.
I would spend hours on YouTube, researching products, services and even DIYs to cure my skin. Every wash, moisturizer and serum that I tried was ordered off of Amazon with great optimism. I have a good feeling about this one. I think it is actually going to prevent my acne from returning! However, I was let down every time. The product was then ruthlessly thrown into my bathroom cabinet alongside the other dusty pills and potions. I eventually ran out of room to house the ineffective products, which is when I figured it was time to schedule a dermatologist appointment. Prescribe me anything, doc. But, like always, my skin refused to listen to the prescribed concoctions, leaving me with one last option -- Accutane. While my parents were nervous to sign the confirmation papers, I could not scribble my name fast enough. Give me the highest dose. Now, I will be honest, those seven months on the medication during my junior year of high school were intense. Accutane is a severe prescription drug that treats severe acne and can have severe side effects. Yes, it was severe. Every month, I was required to undergo blood tests and pass multiple choice quizzes in order to be prescribed another package of pills. Seven months of extremely chapped lips later, though, my skin was as clear as a baby's butt. For the first time in ten years, I felt confident in my own skin.
Insecurities, man. They can consume your entire life. When my skin was uber irritated, I avoided leaving my house because I was afraid that people were going to stare and snicker. I avoided engaging in conversations because I felt like my skin would be the center of attention, not my words. I avoided attending sleepovers because that meant I had to reveal my raw skin at the end of the night. My lack of skin confidence eventually crept into other aspects of my life. I lost motivation to challenge myself and began doubting my abilities to style clothing, run and excel in school. All I could focus on was achieving perfect skin.
I did not intend on further fostering your Monday blues, so let me turn this story around. For years and years, I kept my insecurity private, which allowed it to fester inside. I never fully opened up about it with anyone, and that was the worst possible treatment I could have prescribed myself. It was not until my freshman year of college that my insecurity began to escape my tight grip. While conversating with a friend, I apologized for the state of my skin (I still regularly breakout even after being on Accutane). Like any nice friend would, she responded, "Emily, your skin is not bad at all." I brushed off her comment, convincing myself that she only said that because she did not know what else to say. "Emily, I am not kidding. You actually have very good skin." That stuck with me.
Over the past decade, I have developed a terrible habit. Whenever I look in the mirror, my eyes are immediately drawn to the imperfections on my face and then I think harsh thoughts about myself. I am disgusting. If I didn't have acne, I would be prettier. Hurry, apply concealer!
Hearing my friend tell me that I have good skin was exactly what I needed. Since I had never opened up about my insecurity, I did not know what my friends saw when they looked at me. Although I saw zits, others saw my eclectic style or my writing abilities or my dark brown eyes. All this time, I have been my own bully, staring and snickering at my reflection.
I still struggle with acne and my insecurity, and I will continue to throughout the rest of my life. But I am training my mind to think differently about how I perceive them. I am also training my mind to think differently about myself when I look in the mirror. As a tremendous self-growth driver, acne will always be a part of who I am, and for that, I am grateful.
I am not looking for "You have great skin, Emily! Don't beat yourself up." comments below. What I would love to chat about are your own insecurities because it is about time you opened up about them.
Cheers to learning how to feel overjoyed with my skin again.
