When the news broke that the UK was to start cautiously embarking on its journey out of lockdown, I had mixed feelings.
The larger part of me was of course ecstatic that a tentative date had been placed on the return to normality. Finally, a long awaited reset on IRL family get-togethers & meet ups with precious friends, without the danger of being cut off by a dodgy internet connection. My mates enthused in our group chat about how sweet that first G&T in the pub garden was going to taste; how we couldn’t wait to drink each other in too and make up for all the nights we’d lost over the last year.
But as I typed back that wild horses would have to keep me away, I could feel a layer of undeniable dread lining the pit of my stomach. Because while others have been baking banana bread, the added ingredients of heightened stress, over exposure to central heating and a lack of vitamin D á la lockdown had created the perfect recipe for the most uncontrollably aggressive eczema outbreak that I’ve ever had.
I’ve suffered from eczema to varying degrees ever since childhood, but lockdown eczema has been another beast entirely. As the months locked inside rolled on, my skin became itchier and angrier than ever before. None of my usual medicated creams were even touching it and whereas pre-pandemic I wouldn’t be able to scratch freely (shedding your
skin in the office does not a popular colleague make, funnily enough), working from home has been an absolute free for all for my ever impatient fingers. With only my cat’s judgement to bear, I’ve found myself repeatedly raking over the same patches which has resulted in a jungle of new eczema scars now meandering up and down the length of my whole body.
And whilst I am so aware that this pales in comparison to so many other pandemic stories, I would be lying if I said that the fact that my legs in particular are now absolutely covered in new dark scars hasn’t totally shattered my self-worth and confidence. I so want to be able to relate to my friend’s excitement of being able to finally wear that cute dress out of the house now that restrictions are being lifted – but how am I supposed to confidently rock up to the pub with skin that looks like it’s been fashioned from pages from a dot-to-dot book? I so want to feel worthy to feel the sun on my skin again, but the thought of actually wearing anything that would bear my body makes me want to curl up in a big pathetic ball and sob until winter comes round again.
I think it’s time that society starts to recognise the very real mental health effects of living with a skin condition. I clearly need to as well; take for instance the way I just deemed myself ‘pathetic’ for wanting to hide away which totally invalidates my experience – as well as those of others too. I’m certain that I’m not going to be the only one feeling uneasy about re- emerging into the world with significantly more visibly scarred skin than I had a year ago. Dermatologists have reported a marked increase in new severe eczema cases all over the UK – which makes it even more salient than ever to start sharing our stories in the hopes of destigmatising anything other than an Instagram-ready flawless complexion.
So, if you notice that your friend or family’s skin issue is much more visible now, please be kind. Please think before you speak. Better still – don’t mention it at all. Please understand how uncomfortable we feel about exposing our changed skin to the world for the first time, and how conscious we are that yes it does look painful; that’s probably because it is, or certainly has been. But what’s even more painful is being made to constantly explain it and made to feel ‘other’ because of it – we already do that enough to ourselves.
Maybe my new eczema scars will fade in time and maybe not, but I am hopeful that I and others who have been similarly affected by the last year will eventually regain the confidence to wear whatever we want, regardless of the appearance of our skin. For now, my plan is to stock up on summer jumpsuits, finally order that gin and tonic and raise a glass to the journey of trying to learn to love myself again; no matter what condition my skin is in.
