The other day I woke up and my neck felt like sandpaper, so I mechanically applied the lotion I have been using to manage my psoriasis for the past year. Surprisingly and confusingly, my skin reacted horribly to my go-to, which was one of the only ways I have been able to manage my symptoms. In case you are wondering what I mean by reacted horribly, my neck swelled up and my psoriasis became extremely inflamed and bright red. I was in so much pain that every time I inhaled my neck felt like someone was putting an iron to it. Usually when I get upset I take a couple deep breaths and try to bring myself back down to earth. However, in the moment it didn’t matter how many deep breaths I took. I was going to lose my sh*t.
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And boy, did I lose my shit. My roommate witnessed me frantically running around our kitchen trying to find relief as I shoved a PackIt lunch box to my neck, oh the glamour of shoving ice down your shirt at 9 in the morning freshly risen from a night’s rest. The next 20 minutes consisted of me holding ice to my neck and staring at myself in the mirror as I cried, damn, if I ever write a play that is how I would want a dramatic monologue delivered.
It takes a lot to bring me to the point of tears, but I was so fed up. I had finally figured out what worked for me and had not experienced a flare up in almost 4 months. It felt so unfair. I had just gotten to a point where I finally felt confident again. It doesn’t matter how many people say, “Oh, you have psoriasis? I barely would have noticed unless you mentioned it,” because when it is your body the imperfections are all you tend to see. In that moment imperfection glared back at me.
I rarely have moments of emotional release but that moment was so cathartic, a pivotal instance in my journey with not only my physical but mental health. I think we often take for granted such moments or blatantly avoid giving ourselves the opportunity to lean in to how our frustration, sadness, etc. is truly affecting us. I have often associated crying and voicing my feelings as a woman with emotional weakness, the thought always playing in the back of my mind that people would not take me seriously if I wore my heart on my sleeve. But in all honesty, what gives another person or what other people might think the right to control your reality? Earlier, I jokingly referenced my dramatic staring into the mirror, but if it’s your reality and the current circumstance is painful enough to bring you to tears, that is not drama, that is you living your life.
I realize now that my reaction wasn’t solely my frustration coinciding with my reality, but it was also consumed with worries of what other people I encountered throughout that day. I wondered how many people would silently question what was wrong with me and why I was walking around looking diseased. I wondered how I would be able to angle my head so that I could prevent other people from looking at my psoriasis. I was threatened by the fact that I would have to walk to class and see people stare right at my insecurity, destroying the confidence I had finally gained back. In the moment that seemed to be the most painful part of it all, other people seeing me as weak through my showing emotions and the bright red patch that engulfed my entire neck.
This article in and of itself was a stream of consciousness, but I do want to impart one final anecdote. Strength can be constituted in your ability to feel freely and bare that emotion for others to see. It is not a give and take scenario in which shedding a tear will equate to someone else losing respect for you, and if you feel for you it is such a scenario, then you need to cut that person or people out of your life and thank me later. My main takeaway from losing my sh*t is that I need to do better at not caring so much about what other people think or perceive of me, because at the end of the day the only people we have to live with are ourselves.