I was super excited when I got my first period but I started hating life a few months later because I was also blessed with the acne gene and not in a small way. It visited me like the uninvited guest who overstays their welcome, eats your food, and then has the audacity to complain about the stay. And because I wanted the pimple to go away very soon, I would pop them. Noob mistake which nobody told me about. And because I would pop them, they would scar, each scar taking a stab at my self confidence, which would stress me out, leading to more pimples. I was stuck in this beautifully vicious cycle, that I had self-engineered with me as the victim as well as the perpetrator. And then there were the unsolicited consultants. Every aunty on the bus had a remedy. Every adult I met would look at my face like I’d personally offended them and ask “Oh! What happened to your face?” What happened? PUBERTY, AUNTY.
Everyone told me it would go away with time, as I mature, physically and emotionally. They were kinda right - it got better, and by the time I was in college the active pimples reduced, but the scars remained. And by now I had resigned to never looking at the mirror, like ever because if I don’t see the scars, it means the scars don’t exist (Rock solid logic, even now!) And then, plot twist, I had a boyfriend in college. I was genuinely confused. I'd look at him sometimes and wonder if he just hadn't noticed, or if this was some elaborate long con. The bar was so low that I was suspicious of anyone who cleared it. It took me embarrassingly long to consider a third option: that maybe he just liked me (I’m radical like that!)
Between 21 and 25, as I did round#1 of adulting, the pimples reduced. I decided to get out of India for round#2 of adulting, they reduced further; not sure whether it was the German air, some time away from stressful elements or the fact that I had started doing things that made me happy. I would still get a pimple or two that time of the month, but the difference was I’d stopped popping them. Even last month, I got a pimple and just... sat with it (self-pat moment yet again, the amount of will power it took to not do anything about it!) I’ve recently started a 3-step skincare routine, and no idea whether it’s a placebo effect or not, I feel like I’m looking better :)
I ask my husband whenever I’m feeling low, how come he doesn’t see those scars, and he sweetly asks me every time, “What scars? I don’t see them.” I thought he was just being nice for the longest time but nope, he means it. And how much those words have helped me with my confidence is something I can’t can put into words (maybe in a partner appreciation post later!)
Yes, acne sucks. Yes, I wanted to tear my face off and get another one. But no, I might not change the lessons it taught me. The scars though? Those can go. They have overstayed their unwelcomed visit long enough.