Showing some epidermis
I’ve been blessed with delicate, easily angered skin. During my teens and twenties, I spent more time than I’d like to admit aggravating and covering it, and all under the delusion of improving its health.
The trick to skin I’m not afraid to bare? Pregnancy hormones and little to no time to obsess over every little blemish. Well, it’s more than that, but those seem to be the largest, most impact-having factors.
Nowadays, I’m more focused on preventing skin cancer than presenting a flawless face. Interestingly, this shift has made both more possible. Hippie sunscreens, minimal makeup, more water, less alcohol, whole foods and a literal hands-off approach – it’s that easy.
Katie at 13, 19 or 25 would not have been caught dead showing the skin I do in this recent beach snapshot. I can’t say how freeing it is to move past that kind of self-consciousness.
See, for a number of reasons, I bought into a philosophy that says blemishes must be punished, then covered. One must not let them show because even the most subtle of red spots will distract from an otherwise pleasant enough body and personality. Worse, this all coincided with a trend of telling teenagers that diet had nothing to do with skin health. Little did I realize the damage I was doing. Damn you, cover stick and Taco Bell!