The story of my face is my health origin story.
When I was 14, I saw my first dermatologist. She told me what I eat didn't affect my skin, then gave me a prescription for a topical ointment, astringent and put me on an antibiotic.
Looking back, my skin was actually pretty OK. Before the dermatologist, I'd never had cystic acne, only an occasional breakout. I don't remember why I "needed" to see her, but I took her word as gospel and began the regimen. Over the next few years, she never took me off antibiotics, just changed the type I was on.
Fast forward five years and I'm 19, about to head off to the Netherlands for my sophomore year of college. Not only could I drink beer legally (and eat all the bread and cheese I wanted), but I also couldn't get my prescription filled legally over there.
So for the first time in five years, I didn't have daily antibiotics in my system. And I was gorging on a smorgasbord of gluten and dairy. And my face went nuts.
Cystic acne sprung up and wouldn't go away. Not only was it physically painful, I was emotionally struggling too. I remember going to bed every night and hoping that when I woke up, my acne would be gone and that it was all a nightmare.
When I got back from the Netherlands, I was happy to be in a land of healthcare once more, a place I could get the "necessary" drugs for my face. That year, I went on Accutane. My face immediately became dry and peeled. I was on two forms of birth control because Accutane can cause serious birth defects. I had to get my blood drawn every month to make sure my liver was OK.
Pretty serious stuff, but I didn't care — I just wanted my skin to behave again.
I had a few "good" years before everything came roaring back with a vengeance. It crushed me.
I remember declining an invitation to go camping with friends because you can't apply a full face of makeup in the woods and I couldn't not wear makeup in public. I remember someone shouting "NOXZEMA!" to me on the street. I remember the stranger who tapped me on a public bus to ask if I'd ever tried Proactive.
I shelled out money I didn't have for facials where I'd cry as I was being poked and prodded. I listened to facialist tell me how brave I was to go outside everyday with skin like mine. And then one day, a new esthetician said, "Annette,have you ever considered you might have an allergy?"
Because I'm made of hearty midwest stock and we don't have allergies to things like dairy and gluten, the thought that my acne was caused by something I ate never crossed my mind. But in that moment, a lightbulb went off in my head. It was my first step to understanding how everything in my body is connected.
Today, it blows my mind that I thought what I put in my body had no impact on my skin. Those antibiotics I took for years? They killed my happy gut flora, making it a sad place that couldn't digest food properly ... which would then show up on my face.
Wheat exacerbates this problem. Keeping it out helped me heal. And the great thing about healing is that the more you do it, the more you can get away with.
My face was a big motivator for change and though it really sucked — like really, really — I'm also grateful. It helped me grow and learn to dig to the root cause. I'm happy I had a catalyst for change.
Photo Credit: Stocksy, author