As I looked into the mirror, in my university bathroom, one day, I noticed that I had several spots of acne. I closed my eyes and remembered, how my mother used to pop my pimples, and say, “Okay, Pizza face. Do not let me pop those pimples and let them get worse.” Since I hit puberty, I had a bad complexion. My mother and I tried countless products from Clean and Clear to Oxy. None of them worked for me. Once I got my period my hormones made this worse. When my mother called me names it only hurt my self-confidence. Then my mind drifted to my grandma’s words, “Your mother was so beautiful and had gorgeous skin. You did not get those skin problems from her. It must have come from your father’s side of the family.”
As I wiped sweat from my oily face, I decided to walk back over to the university health center to see if anything could be done about my complexion. That same day I explained to the nurse, “I need something to help clear up my face. I would like some recommendations that are over the counter since I don’t have insurance.” The nurse took a quick look at my face then asked, “Do they ever hurt or bleed?” I knotted yes. She quickly pulled out her prescription pad and said, “I know of this great kit that will help with that. Take this prescription and try it for two weeks then come back for a follow up.”
My mind drifted back to when I was a young 16-year-old. As I was sitting on the exam table, waiting for the doctor to come in to see about my eczema. My grandma reminded me, once again, about my mother’s beauty and how ugly I looked. She begged me to ask the doctor to help me clear up my complexion. At first, I did not want to ask the doctor, but then I caved. We tried three different medicines. The first one caused me to have black teeth. The cause of this was because I had an allergic reaction. The second medicine my grandma did not like because it took time to work and there was a smell to it. The third and final medicine looked like thick cake batter. So, after trying all three I told the doctor that I wanted to give up. Come to find out it was a wise choice because a few weeks later I lost my health insurance.
I hoped that this time the medicine, from the nurse at my university, would work. Two weeks later I returned to the nurse for my follow up appointment. “I couldn’t open the bottle. Because my hands were too weak because of my Cerebral Palsy.” I explained. “Amanda, next time ask the pharmacist to open it for you or put it into another container. Come back and see me in a month.”
I shook my head and left. I continued to try to apply the medicine like it was prescribed, but still I felt I was losing the battle. The truth of the matter was I was tired of trying to fix the problem. Once I graduated from The University of West Florida my acne and the words of my family still was haunting me. It was not until years later that I found an over the counter product that worked. The more I use the product the more confident I felt. Now as I look into the bathroom mirror today and I think about the words of my family— Yeah, sometimes I still visit those memories, but I am learning to let them go and feel confident in my own skin.