It's amazing how a person's off-hand, insensitive comment can send me back to childhood and, seemingly, undo years of emotional progress.
I'm an adopted foster child.
The early parts of my life were very traumatic, filled with abuse and suffering. As a result, I was a shy child, always trying to stay hidden and blend into the background. It also meant emotions were pushed deep down inside and never expressed.
Eczema also ran in my family, and I had it. Bad. Stress caused it to flare up, and I was in a constant state of stress for most of my childhood and young-adult life. And, of course, it couldn't be somewhere hidden on my body.
It was on my arms the most. I'd be nice and tan most places, except the white patches where I'd scratched off the skin.
The it moved to my neck. The skin would peel off, exposing gaping cracks in the flesh. That really made the guys want to ask me out.
I also developed cold sores, and spent most of high school with perpetual cracks at the corners of my mouth. People spread rumors that I had herpes and several mature high school guys called me "crusty".
All this just created more stress, which spun the vicious cycle.
My adoptive parents didn't handle it much better. I was punished for scratching and for breakouts. I was forced to memorize countless scripture verses about healing, and told I wasn't healed because I didn't have enough faith. I was dragged from doctor to doctor, enduring scrutinizing doctors, shots and countless creams and lotions.
I felt judged, and punished, for something that was beyond my control.
I grew up, moved out, got married and had children all the while enduring questions and sneers when people saw my skin. About this time, the eczema had settled on my hands, making it all but impossible to hide.
Thankfully, as I aged I learned better ways to deal with my stress and also received much counselling to deal with all the emotional turmoil I had been in for so many years. Ever so slowly, my skin healed.
The cracks closed.
The blisters disappeared.
The itching was gone.
I have been symptom free for several years now.
Then we got a new color shampoo at the salon I work in. Several of us are having a bout of contact dermatitis because we use it so much.
So, I've been nursing my hands, attempting to get them back to normal. Apparently, I'm not doing it so well.
As I was perming an older ladies hair today, she asked me if anyone had complained about me working on people with how my hands looks. In that instant, all the pain of my childhood experiences came rushing pain. I wanted to cry, but I pushed back the tears that were stinging my eyes, and instead asked her about her own cracked knuckles. "Dry skin" she said. Well, duh.
Again, I'm being judged for something I have no control over. The emotions are high, and my nerves are raw. I'm a little girl, trying to hide. Wishing to be invisible.
But that doesn't "fit" anymore. I've grown, matured, healed. I don't fit in that mold anymore.
I'm stronger now. I know who I am. I know what is my responsibility and what burden I truly bear.
I'm strong enough to let go of all the pain from the past surrounding my skin and how people have viewed me because of it. I choose to move forward, out of the pain (both physical and emotional) and just. let. go.
