the truth about my skin

This is something I don’t often talk about or write about, yet I deal with it so much - when I look in the mirror. My skin.

I was a teenager at 13 years old, fresh from South Africa, stepping off a plane into a new country, Canada. I remember starting grade 8 in this North American high school, which was foreign, to say the least, because it was nothing like I pictured or portrayed in American television.

It was also the year I started noticing ‘breakouts’ on my forehead. It was more like dark spots and/or acne scars. It ran in my dad’s side of the family. Having bangs or a fringe made it worse.

One day on TV, we were watching these “Pro-Activ” infomercials that would air regularly. It was a 3 step process for clear skin; cleanser, toner and moisturizer. Over the course of weeks, you’d see clear skin, according to the testimonials which were believable. It led my dad to start placing the order. He was the one who had a problem with the fact that our skin (me and my sister’s) - were not clear. It seemed that was all that mattered to him. In secret, he would suggest ‘persistently’, to our mom, that we must go see a dermatologist.

And so we ordered the products. For me it worked, it really did. I stood by it. I was happy. It cleared my skin. This was from grade 9 until about grade 12…and then I stopped using it, and all hell broke loose (which I’ll get into later)

...

The traumatic part of this timeline was that, I remember every time I had a new ‘breakout’ or ‘blemish’ on my face, the same question would be asked,

“Are you using that thing for your face?”, “Did you use that treatment for your skin?”.

These regularly redundant questions were from him only. No one else had a problem with my skin. I knew it would pass, it wasn’t something permanent. I felt like I was becoming conditioned, slowly. Every time I had a new breakout on my face, I became wired to think I wasn’t attractive or appealing or accepted.

My sister and I were going through the same thing, only for some reason, she had a worse reaction to the products than I did - which made her skin ‘worse’ and probably made her more insecure. And again, our dad would be persistent.

I remember once we took a vacation to Chicago during spring break, and me, my sister and my mom met up with him at the airport. Upon greeting him and checking in, I remember the look on his face when he saw me - almost disgust, I'm not exaggerating - when he noticed that I had one, just one, breakout on my face, right in the middle of my forehead, and asked, “Are you using that thing on your face?”.

As if my answer was gonna suddenly clear my skin. Urgh.

Here I was, excited to be traveling to a new city that we’ve never been to before, only to be met with a different realization. MY skin was the only thing that mattered to him.

...

At the end of grade 12 (2015), I stopped using the products. Because the treatment wasn’t working on my sister’s skin, our dad stopped ordering it. I stopped using it, and my skin exploded. I mean not literally, but I started breaking out everywhere on my face, it was horrible. When I started breaking out in grade 8, it was only on my forehead, but now it was on my cheeks too. It made me more insecure than I already was.

Again with regular persistence, that I see a dermatologist, I started another treatment through my family doctor. It seemed to work for a while and then midway through my undergrad, I stopped using it and started wearing foundation - thinking I knew how to use it.

(2018) This brought me back to square one. I wasn’t applying it properly, it wasn’t staying on, in fact, I think it caused my skin more damage than anything.

Whenever I ran out of the foundation, I would stop at Sephora for samples - desperate for coverage on the surface, but desperate for approval and acceptance, below the surface.

It impacted how I thought guys would view me.

When I would video chat with one of my high school best friends, who is a male, I made sure to pack on the foundation, so there were no blemishes or outbreaks visible.

When I met a guy at my work (2018) - who is now my boyfriend, I wore foundation non-stop around him. One particular time, early on in our relationship, he was staying at a friend's house and I wanted to spend time more with him, so I decided to sleepover for the night. Not knowing the importance of washing your face before bed, I slept with my make-up on. Yes, that’s how insecure I became about my skin. I did that many times when I would spend the night at his place. I didn’t want him to see what I looked like without makeup, in fear that he might break up with me or leave me for someone else. You don’t need to be a psychologist to figure out why.

2020 hits and up until this point, I’m still breaking out and using foundation to cover my skin, which is making it worse. During the lockdowns, and passing time, I started researching ways to achieve clear skin, without harsh chemicals or prescriptions that I was often resorting to, for a quick fix. It simply had to do with the foods I was consuming, the amount of sleep I was getting, and the amount of exercise. That was my aha moment, as Oprah calls them.

I was becoming aware of these factors, and I started to notice a difference. It was slow, but surely clearing, without me hurrying to the store to buy foundation. Instead, I researched and started using organic and natural cleaners. This took about a year. And a lot of patience and self-love.

I developed a skin routine. In the morning, wash, cleanse and moisturize. If I wanted to wear foundation, I could, but only if I did my routine. IN the evening, same thing, minus wearing make-up to bed.

I'm human, so from time to time, I wear foundation when I'm home alone. I carry it with me when I know there’s a bathroom nearby. And then there are other days, most days, when I'm like, “Fuck it”. Who the fuck cares what I look like? I should be the only one who cares what I look like. Why should I give so much power to those questions, “Are you using that thing for your face?”.

I look back on those times, with compassion. I understand that my dad has wounds that he hasn’t dealt with like I’m sure many of our parents/guardians do. Insecurities, no less.

IM 24 years old now. I’ve come a long way to accept my skin - with lots of patience, love, and self-care.

For any insecurity that any of you are dealing with, it takes time and love, and patience.