Maskne - Loving Our Lumps And Bumps
I have always, proudly, uninterruptedly, unapologetically been a body positivity, self-loving, goddess of a woman.
Yeah, I wouldn’t believe that either. The truth is, I doubt that even a quarter of us could hold that claim honestly, because, well, it’s hard! For countless years, it has been evident that social media alongside media in general has acted as the gold medallist for false representation of the female appearance and only recently have we been provided with bodies and faces that are relatively similar to our own. Despite making this potentially promising yet extremely overdue level of progress, there remains so much we aren’t exposed to due to it not fitting in to what is considered societies ‘pretty’. Such as Acne, and it’s best buddy, scarring.
If I’m being honest, being a part of the adult acne gang was never a lifelong dream of mine, but here we are, rolling with it. And just to clarify, I don’t mean a pimple here and there, I’m talking full on facial brail, and it affects you. Big time.
Studies have shown acne to:
e.g.
I cannot explain how many times I shoved an entire hobnob in my mouth and fought for air just to limit the time staff would actually see my skin.
I adopted this pattern of behaviour so well (some would say mastered) that people only knew I had/have an acne problem when I declared my battles and broadcasted the before and afters (well, the initial afters, now we’re in a state of fluctuation). But I often think about why I chose to behave this way, like what did I think was going to happen? That my colleagues would take one look at my decorative skin dotting and disperse like a flock of birds sensing a natural disaster? That my friends would decide this was the final straw on the hay pile foundation of poor communication and a busy work schedule? Or perhaps that my pets would spontaneously combust? Ok, the last ones a little dramatic, but regardless of rationale, I was adamant on hiding it. Which was EXHAUSTING. As time went on, not only was the mask acting as the instigating factor in the natural disaster that was taking residence on my face, but the solution to the problem it had created. I was trapped in a cycle of wanting to take care of my skin and the desire to let it breathe, but also the undeniable need to hide how bad it had gotten to friends and colleagues.
After weeks of constant mask wearing inside and outside of work, alongside avoiding both eating and drinking in-front of others, I was able to secure an appointment with the GP. This took place via an awkward phone call whilst simultaneously taking photographs of my skin and squatting on a plastic patient waiting room chair. With little to no persuasion required, the GP prescribed the ‘acne antidote’ and my arduous, painstakingly infrequent skincare journey began. Despite said journey starting off slow, my lumpy bumpy canvas soon powered off into the territory of ‘acne who?’, tricking my first timer brain into believing I was out of the woods, ‘in the clear’ as they say. Buttttt, now I’ve been around the block a few times and am fully aware it’s more of a long stay car park vibe than a weekend getaway.
e.g.
Today, I had a flare up. My hair happened to be greasy, it was also the day I consciously made the decision to wear sweatpants to work. My 12-hour shift consisted of covering two emergency theatres, watching my first c-section (involuntarily sweated through the entire procedure), followed by the entire theatre staff going home without telling me the final case was cancelled and last but definitely not least, being hunted down by a rather angry owner of a missing handbag. ALL whilst wearing a stinky ass, uncomfortable, suffocating (lifesaving, precious, especially important) clogged pore promoting mask.
As you may be able to imagine, those turn of events combined with the hot air invading my pores causing a bumpy red uproar sent me over the edge. The added layer of discomfort on top of the foundation that is your actual life can be enough to send you spiralling. I managed to get approximately 20 steps out of the building before breaking down into tears, salty puddles gathering above the dip in my exceptionally fine top lip, the mask now acting as a support bubble of sadness around the bottom half of my face. And I did what I needed to do, I just let myself feel it. And I have continued to allow this method to take the reins as despite working HARD on taking care of our own skin, whether that be through medication, diet, exercise, and the most used correction; awful temporary hacks from the internet, our skin is a bad bitch independent being who gets pissed every now and then and wants us to know about it.
Acne, no matter whether it’s around for the long run or a temporary visit, affects both our physical and mental state whilst battling our every-day lives (some of which may contain shootings, stabbings, major RTC’s and oh, a global pandemic). It can leave behind scars and blemishes, both of which we fail to see in mainstream media. Which of course, provides the impression that they are not ‘the norm’, that we’re wrong for having them, that they don’t fit into societies standards of beauty. And I’m not arguing that we should be glorifying acne, that shits painful and irritating, I’m arguing that we should be shown skin that isn’t egg-shell smooth, skin that’s textured, blemished, scarred skin, or better yet, covered in god damn cystic acne. Let us know we are human for experiencing such things and that we are just as beautiful with them than without. We have spent years layering foundation and concealers to present a flat, smooth, marble like surface which couldn’t be further than the face I personally wake up to everyday, and I’m just not feeling it anymore.
Despite this soul saving realisation, I am still affected by the demonic volcanos of irritation that appear to say hi every now and then. Just because we can acknowledge the normality of a situation and feel we are able to love the skin we’re in most of the time, it doesn’t mean we are going to be able to love all of ourselves ALL of the time, and to be honest, that’s okay. We’re going to experience lumps and bumps (yes, I said it) in the road of a lot of self-loving but the fact we are allowing ourselves to accept the bumps even a little bit during these times is the very definition of the kindness and nurture our bodies and mind deserve. Sometimes once we enter the ‘body positivity’/‘skin positivity’ zone, we can feel pressured to be the embodiment of self-love until the end of time, when frankly, that’s unrealistic and just plain annoying. I have seen a few social media posts from my personal social media saviours lately highlighting this and I think it is beautifully relevant and required by those learning to love their imperfections. To remind us that you are not a failure because you get upset about your skin when you preach positivity, and that it doesn’t dictate how far you have come in you journey of acceptance and celebration.
It is 2021 and I genuinely believe we have only started seeing women we can relate to, real everyday women because WE as a society demanded it and used all access social media platforms to make it happen. It was only through these platforms did I find myself naturally coming across images of women who provided the reminder that bodies differ, faces differ, and every shape and size is a variant of beautiful. Lumps and bumps included. Don’t get me wrong, we have a hell of a long way to go but it’s a great start.
Looking back now, I can see how ridiculous my adopted thought process was, but at the time, it’s easy to become consumed by it. We can start to believe every horrible spoonful of words our brains feed us when in reality, it went like this :
Make-up under masks enhanced the discomfort it had created. I stopped wearing make-up to work. I began to truly feel confident in my own skin. Having a space where I could exist in my most natural form not only enhanced my confidence but most importantly, the time I was able to spend in bed each morning. It soon became clear that no one cared about the condition of my skin, at least not in the way I was expecting. They instead focused on ways to help me, suggesting products or medication to reduce irritation or make up alternatives that are less likely to send my flesh into overdrive. All advice stemmed from when they had experienced similar things. It wasn’t long before the feeling I adopted at work crept into my personal life, making acne out, spot cream covered snack runs and shopping trips became the regular and there is absolutely no going back baby.
So in summary, this is what I’ve learnt:
1) We should not feel guilty for having bouts of feeling sad about our skin or body – we cannot be positive ALL of the time.
2) It does not matter how confident or strong or outgoing you may be acne sucker punches everyone.
3) People do not care! Well, not in the negative way your brain convinces you to expect.
4) We are beautiful, in every form we come in.
And if you’re not quite there yet, don’t stress, it took a global pandemic, a skin condition and an epiphany over how short life is to get me here. I’m sure your global disaster is coming.