Everyone gets a zit or two in their life, whether it’s when you go through puberty or when experimenting with a new makeup brand. It’s never the end of the world, but you can’t help but feel like it is. In middle school, I tried anything to lessen the inflammation and redness of my acne, and I would always hear from older family members, “you’ll grow out of it soon enough! It’s just puberty.” I am 20 years old and have been struggling with acne issues since the fifth grade, and I can say right now it doesn’t get any easier.
What began as a pimple, or three, popping around my face once a week, spiraled into my forehead being infested with zits. Being 12 years old — an uncomfortable and awkward period of my life and on the cusp of leaving childhood — my insecurity took over and my self-esteem diminished. All my friends complained about the minuscule red blemish on their cheeks while I couldn’t even feel a smooth spot on the upper surface of my head. They tried to make me feel somewhat better by saying, “it’s not even that bad!” As it reached its peak, my mom made my first dermatologist appointment in seventh grade. This resulted in me receiving several new topical creams to counter the red bumps across my forehead. Eventually a tiring pattern began: the creams worked and cleared my face up somewhat, until it began to dry my face and bring back even more acne. I know I can’t use clindamycin, no tretinoin, no retinol; does my body hate me? However, my skin finally started to act obedient with my dream duo: antibiotics and sulfate cream.
Throughout high school, I would gain back my self-esteem that I hadn’t felt since fifth grade. I was acne-free with the occasional small pimples popping up every now and then. This even got to a point where I no longer needed antibiotics. My freshman year I wasn’t afraid to branch out and make new connections, meeting my best friend and boyfriend all in the first week of classes — I’ve never felt better about myself.
Of course, it seems almost too perfect (exactly what I was thinking). That is, until December rolls around. Deep acne encrusted in my cheeks, a place where I’ve never gotten it before, began to spread like a wildfire. Scarring began to consume the sides of my face, cystic under-skin pimples began to feel tender and I stopped looking at myself in the mirror. The times I did glance at myself in the mirror were only when I was dousing my entire face in concealer and foundation, yet no matter how much I tried to shield people from looking at my acne, the texture and bumps didn’t stray from appearing under my mountain of makeup. Days passed where I spent the whole time in bed, crying until I couldn’t breathe and causing concern for both of my parents. My close friends and family would try to make me feel better by attempting to convince me that I am beautiful. No words could make me feel better, even though I so desperately wanted to feel as beautiful as they told me I am.
The week following my depressive episode, I was loading up my car and making the trip back home to St. Louis to visit a new dermatologist. My mom reminded me to be hopeful that I would get new, better results. How could I? My body rejected anything I applied to my face. That is, until the second my new doctor saw me she said, “Of course no cream can fix this, you have hormonal cystic acne.” I was told I had a hormonal imbalance and was immediately prescribed spironolactone: a medication that lowers levels of testosterone and brings balance to unpredictable hormones.
Around February, the hope that my mom asked me to look for crept in. My face was as clear as it had been during high school and my confidence was slowly being brought back to life. Although I still had scarring left from the deep cystic acne, no current pimples could be found across my face, and I felt the beauty that I was encouraged to find. It still doesn’t mean I don’t have the occasional breakouts, especially as another medication has begun to fight with my hormone-balancing prescription. In addition to this, my scarring still gives me some insecurity, though I was recently told that microneedling, a needle-based procedure that brings out collagen to heal the scarring, is the answer to this.
Reflecting back on how my acne destroyed my mental health, I realized how much value I place on my appearance and how others see me. I closed myself off from the people who care the most about me just because I was ashamed about how I looked and what they thought of me. Yet when I do go out, there is never a moment where I am judging someone walking down the street based on the state their skin is in. Never have I thought, “That girl has acne bad on her face, why did she choose to go out today without makeup or anything?” Never.
I’m still currently going through this journey to let go of the hold that acne has on me, but with influencers and celebrities embracing their acne has taught me how unimportant it is. Especially Alix Earle, posting photos showing off her acne and scarring as well as going to major social events without makeup for a whole week. Even Fernanda Gimenez, another TikTok star that embraced her acne in Caudaile’s acne cream campaign. Acne doesn’t change anything about who you are. With acne, you still can be a considerate person, someone who loves to go out with friends or someone who loves to get involved with campus life — it doesn’t define or change anything about who you are as a person.