Why my face is none of your business: Developing the art of human kindness and the importance of a healthy routine.
23 April, 2023
I sometimes wonder why, as human beings, we’re not very good at being kind to each other. Sometimes, we all have the gift of blurting out the wrong thing.
This was the
thought that pinged across my mind recently as (yet) another person decided to
comment on my facial eczema, which, until very recently, had been, through my
own lack of willpower, an issue I had literally faced every day.
“Ooohhh” they
said. “That looks sore.”
“Yes” I said. “Unfortunately
it’s quite bad at the minute.” (this is your cue to change the topic).
“Yes” they continued.
“It looks really bad, doesn’t it.”
“Yes” I said, with
a smile. “It is, isn’t it.”
So that was
that.
Other people who
suffer with it will tell you that certain foods make their skin flare up.
Sometimes it is stress, or changing skin products. Too much sun does it for
others.
Secondly, getting
it under control is a continuous process, and you have to be committed. The
issue was, I wasn’t, (until I got a very stern warning – of which, more later)
- and so the result was like the age-old nursery rhyme: when the skin on my face
was good it was very, very good – but when it was bad, it was horrid.
It felt horrid.
It looked horrid. But of course, it was on my face, so I couldn’t see it – but everyone
else could.
And sometimes,
probably out of sympathy, they said something, as the angry red patches glowed
at them throughout the day, or in the evening. There’s a strip of skin under my
right eye which is especially noticeable, like a smudge which needs wiping
away.
Just in case you’re
wondering if make-up was on option, in order to smother the glow and stop the sympathetic
glances (sometimes accompanied by teeth-sucking) – it was and wasn’t. Yes, I
could slather on some foundation – but my skin would pay for it for three days.
So, make-up was strictly limited to the occasional night out at the weekend.
You might be
thinking (and you’d be right to) “So why aren’t you getting it under control?”
The answer for me
is multi-layered.
Firstly, it requires adherence to a routine which takes place mainly in the morning in order to be a success. The mornings, as my husband will attest, are not my strong point. I detest them. I’m okay by 10 am once I’ve got three teas down me, but, in common with most people, I work full time and have a child to get out of the house on time to school, before I get to work. My mind is racing, so is the clock. So, I’m looking for easy time saves on that morning routine.
After all, one must claw
back some minutes if there’s a school dress which needs drying with a hairdryer
or a coat to find, because you forgot to take it out of the car boot on Friday,
and it’s now Monday. So, if this means (month in month out) I fail to use the
globby, awful shower emollient because I’ve forgotten to re-order the
prescription and if I don’t use the massive bottle of moisturiser because it’s
being used as a handy door stop, so be it. True story, btw, re the door stop.
It was marvellous.
I do now, though.
Earlier this month, the wake-up call I needed to take my skin a bit more seriously
came during an appointment with the Dermatology Department at the Hospital. The
specialist did not mince their words. I had been so pre-occupied with worrying
about the eczema on my face, I’d forgotten about the rest of me and how it
looked. Not great, as it transpired. The backs of my knees, elbows, stomach and
back were all enjoying an eczema party. There’s a persistent dry patch on the
top of my right hand. I’ve just got used to it. And the party had come to an end.
I am now on a
low-level antibiotic for six weeks, twice a day. I am using the gloopy shower
gel replacement in its medicinal looking green bottle. I am having cooler
showers (God, I love a hot shower). I am faithfully putting on the moisturiser.
I take prescription-strength antibiotics. I apply paint-stripper Fucibet cream
reliably. Sometimes twice a day. But once a day is better than the “not at all
I was achieving” so I try to celebrate this. The catalyst was hearing the skin
condition described by the doctor as being “moderate to severe” with a risk of
scarring if I carried on the way I was. I was so used to living with it that I’d
have described it as “mild.” It didn’t look mild to the doctor, particularly not
my face, and she’s the expert.
I left the appointment feeling strangely vulnerable, a bit sorry for myself, and annoyed with myself in equal measure. I was frustrated that it had taken a medical professional to point out that the future of my face was in my hands.
Something had to change. In the spirit of grim determination, I left my prescription
for what would turn out to be a carrier bag of goods at the Hospital Pharmacy
and went straight to the nearest chemist to buy a bottle of the gloopy shower
gel substitute to tide me over while my script was being processed.
So here we are. Two weeks later I am now one packet of antibiotics down and pleased with myself that I have (hopefully) created a new routine which will benefit me long-term. The hardest thing of all for me is accepting that this is not a quick-fix. To see the benefits, I’ll have to put the work in, repeatedly for weeks on end, and possibly for the rest of my life.
This was something I am used to doing at work,
day in day out, but I’m ashamed to say, I have never thought of it in terms of
my long-term health. I guess I have never thought of eczema as serious, though
at times in meetings, it feels like it is burning through my clothes and I
wonder why other people can’t see it. It feels visible.
By seeing a
routine as an investment, rather than something else to fit in, it’s making me
more positive.
I think the key
is not to over-think it. I am reminded of something my (nearly) ten-year-old daughter
said to me when I congratulated her on winning a prize in the Eisteddfod
earlier this year. She had never taken part before and my heart was in my mouth
before she started, followed by tears streaming down my face as she read her poem.
Iris, however, had a different perspective.
“It’s not hard,
mum” she said, with that enviable clarity and insight children often have. “You
just have to get up on the stage and read a poem.”
There you are
then. I just have to get up, and do my routine.
If you’re finding
it hard to make a particular change stick, maybe this post will be food for
thought and will give you a little boost to do the same.
Finally, a note
on kindness (having had my skin laughed at)
Sometimes, the best thing you can do is say nothing at all. An absence of words can be kind.
After all, the very thing you’re
commenting on could be something someone can’t help. You just don’t know what
someone is dealing with. They don’t need our comments to make the bad day they could be having worse.
Unless someone specifically asks you, I find as a general rule of thumb, things they might not want or need your (negative) opinion on include, but are not limited to the below:
Their weight/appearance - (Example: when I was pregnant, 2 men discussed in front of me “how big I was”- though by the conversation you'd have thought I was invisible)
The number of children someone does or doesn't have (you don’t know the reason why)
Where they live/the car they drive/other lifestyle choices (I have had my car, a third-hand Mercedes estate, which makes me smile every day, described as “a waste of money” by someone on six-figure salary, who had no idea what it meant to me to finally have enough money to buy a "nice" car!) ( we're all different and our salaries are used for different things)
What school their child goes to (you don’t know the reason why someone has chosen that school/has had to choose that school) (It's happened to me)
Their working hours - someone might want to work full-time but only able to manage part-time, or vice versa, they may long to work part-time, but because of their personal situation, may need full-time work currently
What that person is wearing/style choices
Why that person has been off work "for a while" (could be a bereavement/miscarriage)
Any visible or less visible disability or impairment that person has/you have been told they have
Their eczema
