You know when people say they have “bad skin”?
I’ve caught myself thinking this quite a bit recently, and it’s starting to bug me.
Yes, my skin is a little bit unhappy at the moment. It’s still recovering from a change in hormone levels. I’ve been a tad stressed with the whole life in lockdown malarky. When I get stressed, it’s written all over my face.
“Hey, your ovaries are bumpy. Let’s make your face bumpy too!”
I also have this frustrating habit of obsessively checking my face and chest and squishing any blackheads or spots I can find. Yep – I’m a stress squisher.
When I’m really, really stressed, I can spend upwards of an hour every day checking my skin. Even if I can’t find anything to squish, I will hunt for it until I’m satisfied (or until it’s time for a snack – you know, priorities).
I have hormonal acne. It’s all part of the joy of PCOS – “hey, your ovaries are bumpy. Let’s make your face bumpy too!”
Thank you hormones. You’re always looking out for me.
I’ve decided that instead of saying “oh, my skin is so bad at the moment”, I’m going to refer to my skin as morally reprehensible. One, it’s much more dramatic, and I’m quite a fan of the dramatic. Two, it reminds me just how ridiculous it is to asign morals and behaviours to ONE OF MY ORGANS.
My skin is currently morally reprehensible.
My gut is grumpy.
My liver is resentful.
My stomach is needy. It constantly wants attention.
My uterus is so damn changeable. It’s a real flake.
My eyeballs are spiteful.
See? Isn’t that just a bit silly?
How is my skin “bad”? Did it rob a bank while I was asleep? Has it been writing poison pen letters? Gleefully cow tipping in the small hours? Taking candy from babies? Pushing little old ladies down the stairs?!
Nope. It’s just a bit spotty and inflamed.
How my skin “chooses” to behave from one day to the next has zero effect on who I am as a person.
Spots, freckles, whatever – it doesn’t make me less worthy as a human being.