Strawberry Face: My Acne Journey

Everything looked inflamed: all the bumps and blemishes, all the dots and divots, all the spots and scars. I suppose these terms are euphemisms compared to the actual word: acne. I hated confronting the reality of those four letters. As I stared into the mirror, I winced at my own reflection. My cheeks were raw and red, pimples aggravating my skin. Despite my efforts to conceal the truth under a thick layer of makeup, my pathetic self-consciousness always found a way to peek through. 

Now, five years into my acne journey, I am ready to share my story. This journey involves more than just my struggle with acne; it involves my struggle with self-confidence, self-assuredness, and self-love. With such an emphasis on having clear skin, having acne made me feel unworthy of being beautiful. Due to the unrealistic societal expectations and unattainable beauty standards, I still grapple with these feelings of inadequacy today. Even though this flawed mentality infected my mind, I have worked on improving myself—and my skin—over the years. Learning to accept my imperfect yet authentic beauty has taught me to embrace individuality. 

However, in eighth grade, when my acne problem became apparent, this optimism was nonexistent. At the ripe age of 13, I began noticing clusters of small pimples on my forehead. Nothing major, of course, but enough to make a teenage girl navigating the cruel world of middle school very self-conscious. (I suppose chopping off my hair, looking like a Hot Topic mannequin, and listening to “emo” bands did not help either.) At the time, I hoped that once all the raging hormones died down, so would my acne. Because the majority of my friends shared this same dilemma, I decided to push back my growing concerns.

Yet, as soon as I realized that my newfound acne issues mirrored my parents’ past experiences, my worries increased. During my mother’s youth, she struggled with cystic acne from her teens well into her late 20s, forcing her to resort to using Accutane—a potent medication used to treat severe acne—to cure her skin after years of redness and ridicule. As for my father, even after using various antibiotics and pimple creams, severe acne scars from his teenage years still linger on his skin today. Considering my genetic predisposition, the prospect of an acne-ridden future dominated my thoughts each time I examined my face. 

As I entered high school, each day included an extensive make-up routine. Layer after layer I caked on foundation, concealer, and powder in hopes of covering up my ever-worsening skin. Even though make-up lessened some of the redness, the bumpy texture continued to peek through. In my freshmen year, I spent hours applying and reapplying make-up each morning, trying to find the best way to conceal the war raging hell on my face. Around this time, the insults started to weave their way into my life. My friends would ask bluntly, “What’s on your face?” or “Why do you wear so much make-up?” or  “How come your skin looks like that?” I would replay their words over and over in my head, hating the way clear-faced boys and girls engulfed me with vicious taunts and snide remarks. 

In sophomore year, my acne hit its apex. As I ventured into the moderate cystic acne territory, my dermatologist began prescribing a concoction of antibiotics and topical tretinoin creams. With my pimple-ridden skin, the acne anxiety began to set in. These worries warped my self-perception, making my self-confidence diminish into nothing at all. Acne infected every aspect of my life. In friendships, my friends would act as if they had a degree in dermatology. They would throw in condescending comments urging me to try their best skincare routines and face masks and serums. Even after trying all these so-called solutions, the pimples would persistently spread across my cheeks and forehead. While pursuing romantic relationships, my acne-covered face often prevented me from looking people in the eye or even going in for a kiss. Every time someone got close to my face, a string of insults would overwhelm my consciousness: ugly, disgusting, pizza-face. 

In May of 2019, I started taking Accutane (also known as isotretinoin). Despite its harmful side effects, which range from extreme dryness to future birth defects, I decided to go through this painful 9-month treatment as a last resort. Because of the drug’s severity, each month I would have to get a blood test, schedule an appointment with my dermatologist, fill out the federal Accutane pre-screening questions, and visit the pharmacy for another 30-day supply of pills. During the first three to four months I saw little improvement, but gradually my skin began to smoothen out and return to its natural color. For the first time in years, I started to recognize my own reflection. 

But, my skin did not return to perfection. Before starting Accutane, I expected a flawless complexion. Yet, I still had to deal with the long-lasting effects of scars and hyperpigmentation leftover from my battle with acne. Even in the aftermath, I found difficulty in appreciating the progress considering that red dots still freckled my skin. They served as a constant reminder of my low self-esteem. 

In junior year, I worked on piecing myself together. Since my acne shattered my self-confidence, I started building strong foundations to solidify my self-worth again. I forced myself to accept my skin—imperfections and all. Acne does not equate to ugliness. Instead, it reminds us of our humanity. Some things cannot be categorized as innately beautiful or ugly. Acne just exists. In a way, it resides in this middle ground of qualities that make us human. Living in a world saturated with Facetune, Photoshop, and filters often overshadow this concept. Even though I may not have spotless glowing skin like the influencers on social media or models in magazines, I am learning to accept myself.       

Today, I aim to advocate for the normalization of acne. I am proud of my strawberry face: sweet, red cheeks speckled with little dots. For me, I use this term to change people’s perception of acne. In a way, it helps to fight against the stigmas associated with having pimple-covered skin. The phrase “strawberry face” reclaims the concept of acne, allowing people to embrace their imperfections and view themselves in a positive light. Regardless of all the bumps and blemishes, all the dots and divots, all the spots and scars, remember to love your strawberry face, forever and always.