Rediscovering Wellness

Eat this, eat that. Wash your face. Use this toner. Use this cream. Don’t use that cleanser. Use this scrub. Go get a facial. Take this medication. I feel bad for you. You’re probably not washing your face enough.  And so on, and so forth. For years I allowed these comments- the kind and not so kind ones to define me. For years I’ve convinced myself that the people telling me these comments mean well- that it has nothing to do with my insecurities. I believed every single one of them and did everything I was told to please them. In my mind, if they see that I’m at least following their unsolicited suggestions even though it wasn’t working they’ll be happy and would stop commenting on my face. Eventually I accepted a reality about my face: it was acne infested and there’s nothing I can do about it unless I take a long-term medication and mess up my liver in the process.

It started when I was 16…no. It started growing up with skin asthma. Those nasty scaly things that would appear out of nowhere on my legs. Soon I reached adolescent years and my skin asthma went on its merry way. But then a gang of bullies showed up on my face which later will be diagnosed as acute dermatitis. It looked like a bunch of whiteheads, blackheads and tiny red pimples unraveling on an area of my face, usually around my mouth surprising the heck out of me and anyone who dare lay eyes on me. Then just as I’m about to celebrate their exit maybe after waiting a couple of weeks armed with nothing but prayer and alternating between self-love and self-pity, here comes a fresh new group on my forehead ready to cause havoc and frustration.

At that point all I can do is look forward to the slur of new comments from my so-called loved ones.

Fast forward to my adult years. I thought my days of puberty inspired skin were over but to my dismay it followed me well into my thirty’s like a creepy stalker. Very soon I was depressed. How would you like getting a random phone call from your mother where she lovingly expresses with a tone of disappointment how bad she feels for the demise of your skin? Or maybe a dermatologist pretty much letting you know that you’re shit out of luck when it comes to your chronic cystic acne unless you take antibiotics for the rest of your life if not for a very long time? Not to mention some other concerned people who gently suggest that I wash my face sometimes.

One day I saw a documentary called “Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead”.  For the first time I was introduced to this thing called juicing, or juice cleanse. Initially, I thought it was a fad. I didn’t think much of it until years later when I was a highly stressed nurse and full-time mom working shift after shift while my fully evolved cystic acne was partying it up like a Rockstar on my face. Suddenly- a light bulb. An aha moment. I thought to myself, if juicing helped that guy lose weight to where he did not have to take medications for all his other health issues, then maybe it can help with my acne to where I didn’t have to take antibiotics and creams with salicylic acid or benzoyl peroxide which by the way, dried up my skin even more so to the point of another breakout.

I had a plan. I will juice my acne away. I had nothing to lose at that point, so, armed with nothing but a purpose, I took out my juicer from its long peaceful slumber and went to the nearest Sprouts.

Can I be honest and say that the first two weeks was hell? Especially when I drank beet juice which made everything that came out of my other end bloody red  which resulted in some mild panic attacks. And not only that, my face broke out into an angry rebellion. Took upon itself to distract every person that would attempt to have a decent conversation with me. Even my friend was so disturbed I could she was looking at the red-hot sizzling blob on my chin instead of my eyes. I had to sheepishly tell her “yeah I’m doing a detox…” and to my mind, “here’s how my skin returns the favor”. Which explains the green concealer and the mis-matched foundation because God knows I don’t wear makeup!

But you know what, it got better. After about three weeks, my face started clearing up, I was glowing, and I was happy. I saw myself, skin and all for the first time in years. It took about three months for my acne to completely heal. I was juicing day in and day out…. well, twice a day. I somehow created this system to make things a bit easier and make me accountable. I also made very small dietary changes which I believe made a difference. Was I tired? Hell yes! But I knew that I matter, and I owe it to myself to get my skin back. Soon my face was glowing and people, even random ones that I had just recently met started noticing. That was about two months into my juicing journey. Now I can honestly say I don’t break out anymore. Maybe a pimple or two occasionally but not the crazy breakouts.

 People may tell you all sorts of things. They may tell you juicing is good, here are the benefits. On the other hand, they may say no, it’s not good, don’t do it. It’s too much work. It removes the fiber from the fruits. Your breakouts might get worse. Smoothies are better. Here’s the thing. People will always have an opinion (or two) whether you ask for it or not on how to live your life. But people are not you. They are not me.  So, let them talk while you do you.

I never thought that I would reap this much benefit from one simple change. I assumed that my acne will always be there, but I was wrong. Juicing took a lot of my time, but it was time well-invested and I can honestly say it was all worth it in the end. When I started juicing, it changed the way I feel about myself because for the first time in a long time, I put myself on the top of my list. I prioritized my needs. Not my mom’s. Not my dad’s. Nor my husband’s. And kid’s. Not even my friend’s. Not my coworkers’. My needs. They’re all that mattered at that moment. Yes, I was a brand-new person…and it was a good day.