I’ve been struggling with acne since I was at least fifteen. I use the word struggle because that is truly what it is: a daily battle. A fight to make eye contact with myself in the mirror instead of zooming in on imperfections. A war against the physical discomfort it causes, piling onto the emotional pain. Defiance against the voice in my head that says anyone looking at me only sees that, not my eyes or my smile.
One of the craziest things about acne is the way it is (or isn’t) treated. I’ve been in and out of dermatologist and doctor offices nonstop for fifteen years, and the answers are always the same: medication. Have you tried birth control? This hormonal treatment, that cream, what about accutane? Do you want to try it again?
I’m so glad those routes have worked for others, but my issue runs deeper, as it does for many. Chronic acne is a symptom—evidence of a larger issue. This isn’t happening because I didn’t wash my face or because I ate too much salt. It is startling how no one seems interested in figuring out what lies underneath. Instead it is unsolicited advice on repeat: Don’t eat chocolate! Don’t be stressed! Don’t even think about dairy, but you can’t have oatmilk either, too many seed oils!
Realistically, they aren’t trained to deal with the root cause, but the symptom. They are trained to offer prescriptions to relieve the pain. But what happens when none of those work, and the problem persists?
It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I finally decided to see an esthetician. Her office was like a spa, dim lighting and eucalyptus and warm towels and calming music. Her first question was “What made you finally come to see me?” And for the first time, I felt like someone actually wanted to help me. She listened intently to every part of my story, and then said something that has completely shifted my mindset after all this time: “Acne is a chronic illness.”
In my heart of hearts, I know it is an inflammatory reaction to something else happening in my body. And while that is absolutely true, my skin is also acne prone. I can manage the symptoms, but it will likely always plague me in one way or another. The difference is, I can finally have the tools to handle it. And those tools do not include harsh medication or cruelty towards myself.
The truth is, there isn’t a magic fix. Fifteen years into this struggle, and it’s difficult not to be discouraged that nothing is different. But at the same time, everything is. I know now that it isn’t my fault. That trying just one more brand of skincare won’t fix it all. I know throwing more money at new treatments won’t help. And most importantly, I know that healing is possible.
I also know that beating my body up was only making things worse. I know that harsh medications only hurt me in the long run, and a bandaid solution is not the right answer for me. I know it isn’t the only thing people notice when they see me, at least the right people. Reframing acne as a chronic illness has allowed me to treat myself with compassion instead of frustration and stand up for myself accordingly. It may always be a struggle, but it is one I am now equipped to move through with grace.
Olivia graduated from Calvin in May 2018 with a double major in business and writing. She now works as an editor in Nashville, Tennessee and is eating her way through the restaurants of her new town. She enjoys weekend trips with friends, petting other people’s dogs, and drinking coffee like a Gilmore Girl.
