I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I first encountered a blemish, or as my mother eloquently referred to it, a pimple. However, I know it was ages ago—and I’ve yet to leave my acne days behind.
At 37, I still find myself dealing with the unfortunate reality of “pizza face.” It often feels random; breakouts don’t just crop up during my PMS phase or the hot summer months when I’m outside playing with my four kids. I could go to bed with clear skin and wake up the next day to an array of angry, red spots.
The worst was right before my wedding. Juggling full-time college classes and three part-time jobs left me little time for sleep, let alone a social life, while I worked hard to earn my diploma without incurring massive debt. I attributed my skin struggles to stress.
After a visit to the campus doctor, I left with tubes of creams and a generic guide on skincare. This ended up being an expensive endeavor with minimal results. Instead, I focused on covering my blemishes with foundation as best as I could.
Acne didn’t just limit itself to my face; it appeared on my chest, my back, and even my upper arms. It was humiliating to be well past my teenage years while still grappling with an uneven complexion. I didn’t have the budget for pricey skincare systems, whether they were exfoliating tools or mail-order three-step solutions.
Through my twenties and now into my late thirties, my acne has ebbed and flowed. I’ve visited dermatologists, but the results often felt like a gamble. I was hesitant to slather my skin with complicated products containing ingredients I couldn’t even pronounce, or to take pills that might turn me into a different person—literally.
I’ve tried various natural skincare brands that boast ingredients like willow bark and beetroot. Sounds promising, right? Yet, the overwhelming scent of licorice was a definite turnoff, and those products generally left me with stained pillowcases instead of clearer skin.
In a bid for simplicity, I opted for a minimalist approach. I switched to using a basic tea tree citrus bar soap and eliminated foundation and powder, aiming to keep my skin as clean as possible. Unfortunately, this too yielded no significant improvements.
Yes, I’ve been diligent about changing my pillowcases frequently, applying sunscreen religiously, and even experimenting with different moisturization levels. I’ve made drastic dietary changes, cutting out dairy, gluten, and meat, which did result in somewhat clearer skin—but left me perpetually hungry. Sometimes, a girl just craves a cheeseburger.
Whenever I’ve sought advice—either in person or through online mom groups—I often receive unsolicited messages from multi-level marketing representatives touting their miracle solutions. They insist they’ve got just the right remedy for me. I’ve been pitched shakes, supplements, essential oils, and skincare lines. All I hear is dollar signs.
When I politely decline their offers, they pry for details. What’s my skin type? Dry? Oily? Combination? Have I considered swapping sugar for bison? Their questions leave me perplexed. I can’t help but wonder when they became dermatologists, and if so, why they aren’t practicing medicine rather than trying to sell me a $29.99 sticky gel with free shipping. Eye roll, anyone?
I’ve done my due diligence. As a type 1 diabetic and breast cancer survivor, I undergo regular lab tests. Everything comes back normal. There are no indications as to why a grown woman like me could be mistaken for a model in an acne infomercial.
Now that my two tweens are experiencing their first breakouts, it’s surreal to share this skin struggle with them. I remind them to wash their faces and keep their hands—full of natural oils and germs—away from their skin. It’s disheartening to wonder why I’m still dealing with breakouts as I approach my forties.
I don’t dwell on my acne like I used to. Is it irritating? Absolutely. Is it sometimes embarrassing? Sure. But with four kids, a job, and a household to manage, I’ve adopted a wash-and-go mentality. Occasionally, I’ll use color-correcting foundation to present a more polished look, but I no longer let a pimple dictate my mood or plans like I did two decades ago.
Yes, there are countless remedies promising miraculous results at high prices, but I’m not interested. My top-knot and makeup-free face is perfectly fine with me. I’m not here to save face.
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In summary, while adult acne can be frustrating and embarrassing, it’s a journey I’ve learned to accept. With the demands of life, I’ve shifted my focus away from perfection and embraced a more relaxed approach to my skin.
Keyphrase: adult acne acceptance
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