Acne isn’t something we, as a society, talk about much. We airbrush away unwanted blemishes in photos. We cover up dreaded zits with heavy make-up. We pretend that it isn’t there as a coping mechanism. There’s rarely television characters walking around with pimples onscreen. Celebrities will discuss their struggle with acne AFTER it’s vanished but never in the midst of a breakout. It’s almost taboo to say “I have acne” and it’s not easy to admit it, especially as an adult. There seems to be a stigma surrounding it still, which makes living with it in the real world even harder. How much easier it would be if we were more open about it? Would it be less shameful? Would it finally not be ignored, not be looked upon as gross, not considered unusual for a non-teenager to experience?

I remember the first time that my dermatologist said to me “There is no question that you have acne.” I thought, “He must be joking. Me? Acne? At twenty-one? No way. That can’t be right.” I was in denial even though deep down I knew it was true. I saw it. It was there. I couldn’t ignore it. I still can’t. Most of my friends would probably say that they’ve never noticed it because they’re kind people, because it’s only ever been mild acne, and because I, like the folks in Hollywood, disguise it well.

In high school, like most teens, I got the occasional zit but nothing monumental. Once I hit my early twenties the cyst-like pimples began to arrive and I didn’t know why. That’s the scariest part of having acne—it’s clouded in mystery. You often don’t know why it’s there, when it’s coming, or how long it’ll last. Sufferers of acne are constantly questioning: “Will it be here for a few days? A few weeks? A month? How many more outbreaks will follow? Will it clear after that or will they just keep on coming?”

After agonizing over it for several months and wasting considerable amounts of money on useless products that promised me a cure, I went to see a dermatologist who prescribed a Benzoyl Peroxide face wash. Soon enough the acne was gone and I was incredibly relieved. It was like pure magic. Bless that Benzoyl Peroxide!

I found out years later that it wasn’t the facewash that was magical at all. It was the birth control that I had started taking around the same time. I didn’t make the connection between the new hormones I was taking and my skin clearing up. My family doctor was the one who prescribed Tricyclen-lo to me and he and my dermatologist were separate entities. Turns out I have hormonal acne, the kind that can only be treated from the inside out, which is why birth control was a perfect temporary solution. It balanced out my hormones, my pores did not clog, and my quality of life improved greatly.

But I was forced to ditch the pill when I started getting migraines with aura. Aura is a visual disturbance that arrives typically half an hour before a headache hits. Apparently, if you get said migraines with aura while taking birth control there is a risk of stroke, so once I started reporting these instances to my doctor he said no more. I realized a few months later that the tiny little pack of no-baby pills was what kept my skin glowing for five years.

So there I was. A woman in my MID-twenties now getting acne again. HOW EMBARRASSING. I couldn’t stand it so I tried a couple of lower dosage birth control pills hoping the magic would be rekindled, but all of them had the same migraine inducing results. I had to deal with the fact that there was no longer a straightforward solution to this problem. “Ughhhhhhh. But I’m not sixteen-years-old anymore,” I would lament. “This SHOULDN’T be happening,” I would moan. “NO ONE IN THEIR TWENTIES GETS ZITS,” I would incorrectly state.

I did a little research and found out that actually a huge majority of the population gets adult acne, especially women. It’s way more common than I suspected. I would go online and find adult acne support groups where people would discuss treatments, talk about their emotions, and tell stories that made us all feel less alone. It felt pretty amazing to band together with my fellow sufferers and support one another in our struggles.

But even with the support groups, I still said to myself “Jess, don’t talk about it, don’t admit to it, for the love of god just pretend it’s not there.” I wasn’t very good at playing the ignorance game. I was super self-conscious about it (and still am). Sometimes I didn’t have the strength to go out into public. I would avoid attending my best friends’ birthday parties because my jawline was covered in blemishes. My boyfriend at the time once surprised me by coming to the restaurant where I worked. When he called me from outside to say that he was there I told him to go home because I didn’t want him to see the way I looked. I would stare at my face in the mirror all day long, something I never did while on birth control. I suddenly felt vain and self-absorbed yet also ugly, disgusting, and artificial.

“Natural beauty,” that most culturally valued and covetable quality, seemed impossible for me. I felt terrible endlessly applying make-up; I couldn’t be “naturally beautiful” like the women I saw in magazines. Of course the biggest problem with that perception is that it is false. No one in a magazine is “naturally beautiful” and although I was fully aware of that I still judged myself for needing concealer. I also knew that if a friend ever said to me that they wished they were “naturally beautiful” I would 100% reply with “Girl, you’re GORGEOUS and don’t ever think that you’re not ‘cause you’re hot HOT shit.” Saying the same thing to myself in the mirror proved more difficult.

I’ve been birth control free for two years now and there have been many ups and downs. I have changed my diet significantly which has had a positive impact on my skin. I drink copious amounts of tea, take herbal supplements, ingest tons of vitamins, and de-stress via meditation and yoga as much as I can. It has gotten better. Recently though I began breaking out again and the questions surfaced once more: “Why is it happening? When will it come? How long will it last?”

What I have gotten better at with age is loving myself for who I am and being okay with my perceived “flaws.” Often, we don’t even consider our “flaws” to be “flaws” but society dictates that we should feel ashamed about certain physical attributes, even if they’re completely natural and common. I’m working on ignoring the bullshit beauty standards we’ve all had shoved down our throats since birth. I’m learning to move beyond the shame and self-judgement. I’m training myself to look in the mirror and say “Girl you’re hot HOT SHIT” no matter how many zits I have on my face. I have come to terms with the acne possibly being here for a while and I’m dealing with how it influences me emotionally because I don’t want to end up hiding away again. I will not allow it to control me. I will not allow it to prevent me from living the life that I want. I have learned to cope with my situation by researching ways to slowly improve my skin, by resisting negative thoughts, and by talking about it. I have acne. People have acne and that’s the most natural thing in the world. I’m “naturally beautiful” and you are too.