I can’t recall the first time I had a breakout, a.k.a. a pimple, as my mom used to call it. What I do know is that it happened ages ago, and I still haven’t outgrown my battle with acne.
At 37, I still find myself dealing with persistent breakouts. It’s baffling; the flare-ups don’t stick to any predictable pattern. They appear at odd times—not just during my PMS week or the sweaty summer months when I’m chasing after my four kids. One night, I can go to bed with clear skin, only to wake up the next day with red, raised spots.
The year leading up to my wedding was particularly rough. I was juggling a full course load at college and working three part-time jobs, barely squeezing in time for sleep or a social life—all while trying to graduate without drowning in debt. Naturally, I blamed my stress for the acne.
I sought help from a campus doctor, who handed me tubes of cream and a generic skincare pamphlet. That only resulted in a hefty bill from the pharmacy with little to show for it. With little time to explore remedies, I relied on foundation to cover up the blemishes.
My acne wasn’t confined to my face; it made appearances on my chest, back, and arms too. It felt humiliating to be well past my teenage years yet still grappling with a splotchy complexion. Expensive skincare systems were out of my budget, so I was left to fend for myself.
Throughout my twenties and into my late thirties, my breakouts continued. I tried visiting dermatologists, but it often felt like a gamble. I was hesitant to slather my skin with products filled with unpronounceable ingredients or take pills that could have unpredictable side effects.
I even experimented with natural skincare lines featuring ingredients like willow bark and beetroot. They sounded promising, but most of them smelled like licorice—definitely not my favorite scent—and did little for my skin.
Eventually, I took a minimalist approach. I switched to a basic tea tree citrus bar soap and ditched foundation and powder to keep my skin as clean as possible. Unfortunately, this didn’t yield miraculous results either. I’ve tried everything from changing my pillowcase every other night to applying sunscreen consistently, and even altered my diet by cutting out dairy, gluten, and meat. While it helped a bit, I often found myself craving a cheeseburger.
On the rare occasions I reached out for advice—either in person or through online mommy groups—I was bombarded with messages from multi-level marketing representatives eager to sell me their latest miracle products. “What’s your skin type?” they’d ask, and I’d wonder when they had become dermatologists. Why weren’t they practicing instead of trying to sell me a $29.99 gel? Cue the eye roll.
Despite being a type 1 diabetic and a breast cancer survivor who regularly gets lab tests done, everything comes back normal. I often find myself questioning why I still struggle with acne at my age, looking like a model from an acne infomercial.
Now, as my two tweens navigate their own first breakouts, it’s strange to share this experience with them. I remind them to wash their faces and avoid touching their skin with germy hands. Yet, I can’t help but ponder why I’m still dealing with these issues as I approach my fifties.
These days, I don’t dwell on my acne as much. Yes, it can be frustrating and occasionally embarrassing, but with a busy life filled with kids, work, and household responsibilities, I’ve learned to embrace a wash-and-go routine. Sometimes I’ll use a color-correcting foundation to appear more polished, but I no longer obsess over every blemish as I did in my younger years.
There are countless products with lofty promises that come at a steep price, but I’m not interested. My natural, makeup-free face is just fine with me. I’m not here to put on a facade.
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In summary, adult acne can be a frustrating experience, but I’ve learned to accept it as part of my life. With a busy schedule and the demands of motherhood, I prioritize what truly matters and no longer let breakouts define me.