ZITS.

ZITS.

People don’t talk about them. They are taboo. They are mortifyingly embarrassing, and they are a real thing that millions of people deal with. So I think talking about them is necessary to helping to get rid of them, to being our healthiest selves.

I have had zits since I moved here. It’s been embarrassing, a nuisance, something I hoped would calm down once I had my life more together. Moving is, after all, a strain. Moving across the country doubly so.

Only, they did not get better. In fact, over time they got worse and worse, until last December, I became a true shut-in. I refused to go to the grocery store unless it was an “off time” when I knew there would be little traffic. I stopped making eye contact and conversation with the cashiers. I became very unpleasant, probably coming off as snobbish, due to my complete and utter mortification at being in public with such a nasty complexion. I already worked at home, so I just refused to leave the house unless absolutely necessary.

Make-up did nothing to cover them, if anything it made them appear worse. I was paranoid that people would think I was not taking care of myself, not hygienic or healthy, or worse, on drugs. There is quite a problem with speed around here, and the open sores on speed-addicted people’s faces are heartbreakingly awful. I am not on drugs, but I did have a face full of open sores too, deep, painful, cystic acne that took weeks to resolve itself just as a new crop was emerging.

I researched and tried things in an attempt to heal my acne. I had not personally had any success with a dermatologist in the past, and without health insurance was skeptical of shelling out money to someone who was only going to tell me to “not scrub so much” (I wasn’t), to use benzoyl peroxide (tried it) or salicylic acid. (Don’t you think I would try everything in my power to heal this horrible painful rashy disease growing on my face?) I left my skin alone. I tried to wash with olive oil. I changed what I ate to only very healthy items. I started a food diary (which I am still keeping to this day because it’s very helpful in general when figuring out what is going on with my body and trying to be in tune to it), I went for long walks every day, I got my 10-minutes of sun, I ate a piece of citrus fruit every day, I stopped eating gluten, I minimized my dairy intake… I. TRIED. EVERYTHING I could find to do in my personal research. And as the days went by and my skin only got worse, I became more and more anxious about it.

How can I, after all, be a successful artist rep when I cannot get myself out there to actually represent?

This was a problem.

Mike was wonderful about it, telling me I was beautiful everyday, but it didn’t matter. I still felt hideously ugly in front of my beloved, the one who I want to look the most beautiful for (after myself of course)! And weekends with the kids were brutal too; every time one of them would look at me and say something to me I just wanted to scream, “LOOK AWAY! DON’T STARE AT ME. YOUR EYES WILL BLEED!”

I’m sure some of you might think I’m being melodramatic, but I actually am not. I started to take photographs of my face to gauge if it was getting better or worse, and I am here to tell you those photos are very telling. My skin was truly awful, uglier than any of you can probably imagine. I am never going to share those photos with anyone. I hope to destroy most of them in the very near future.

A turning point was when my next door neighbor, being the wonderfully outspoken man that he is, knocked on my door in the middle of January to ask me a question. I contemplated not answering. But I knew that he knew that I was there, and that he knew I knew that he knew. (Did ya get that?) I had no excuse.

I answered it.

“Naomi! What has happened to your beautiful face?” he exclaimed.

The tears started streaming down my face. I didn’t know what to say. I just shook my head.

He said, “Have you gone to the doctor?”

I shook my head again.

“Go! Do you go to the Clinic?”

I nodded.

“Call them. Today. They can help you… I’m going to check up on you tomorrow, okay? This is a spiritual test for you. You have to project your inner beauty out to people. You are still in there. But you can do it. And you need to go to the doctor so they can help you.”*

So I did.

And I was very fortunate. The person who was available to see me was not only a very nice person, but she was someone who had personally struggled with adult acne, so she was empathetic. She understood why it was hard for me to come in and see her, why I felt foolish for not being able to heal my own acne issues. She understood.

And so three months ago we started a regimen. Some medication, some yoga, a combination of things, and then I had monthly appointments with her to check back in, and tweak the plan if necessary. She gave me hope most of all, because she has such beautiful skin I could not believe that she ever had the terrible problems I have been having.

And now my skin, for the first time since I have lived here, is getting clear, and truly healing. I have no cysts on my face! NONE! It’s been this way for weeks! The skin is pink as it heals, and for the first time in months, I can actually wear make-up! I feel beautiful again. I feel like a whole person again. I feel like I have my life back.

And yesterday when I was working the crowd, talking to people about something I love, Mike’s glass, the beauty of it was not lost on me. I am back! And better than ever! (So, watch out, World!)

I have read more on acne than anyone probably ever wants to, and some of the things I have learned include that medical professionals still don’t fully understand why this happens to some people. It’s almost never due to poor hygiene; it’s usually due to genetics, and hormones. Stress is not a cause of acne, but it can definitely exacerbate it, which can then lead to more stress, and so on, and you can see how the vicious cycle gets started. Food is not thought to cause acne, though it might have a small part. The most frustrating thing is that it is almost always a combination of many different things, and for each person it is a totally and completely different combination of factors. The challenge is to find your own personal combination of contributing factors, and work with an excellent medical professional, like I did, to solve it. There is no miracle cure, no "magic potion." But with time, serious attention, and lots of patience, it can be solved.

I thought long and hard before posting this – such personal information – on my public blog. Ultimately I decided that I needed to speak out on it, how it affected every aspect of my life for a long while, how people would politely pretend they didn’t see it right down to the nurse checking me in for the first time saying nervously, “So you are here for a … rash…?” and when I said “acne” she quickly shut my file, got very flustered, and tripped over her own shoes on the way out the door, muttering that the doctor would be with me shortly. We as a society are just too embarrassed to acknowledge it. The nurse was trying to be polite, and I understand and appreciate it. It would have been a lot harder to deal with if people pointed and laughed at me, I am sure of that. But I don’t want to be silent about a very real experience for me, because if it really is genetics, then I would like to know who in my family had a struggle similar to this, if anyone.

No, I do not expect anyone to post it on my blog (but you are welcome to). But maybe the next time we talk on the phone you could let me know. Or maybe you could send me an email, or a letter. Because, you are not alone in your struggle, there is help for you, and there is a support network for you, starting with little old me. I promise that I would keep your information confidential, it would be only between you and me (unless you posted it in the comment section here, of course).

*Have you noticed yet what an absolutely wonderful person my next door neighbor is? I am truly going to miss being his neighbor when we move, and fully intend on keeping in touch with him. He is wonderful.