I first realized I had acne when I was 11-years old, and my skin looked more, um, colorful than the other girls in my class. Back then, I had no idea how to treat acne and I was even worse at hiding it. People would point and laugh at giant cystic pimples on my cheeks, ask to touch my forehead, and call me a long-list of nicknames that callously described what was happening on my face.

As I got older, I got better at hiding the acne, but not necessarily taking care of it. I would spend hours at beauty counters begging the professionals to try anything on my skin so that my red bumps didn’t show up in photos or become the first impression when I met people. Makeup became my new best friend, but really, it became my skin’s biggest enemy.

I tried every kind of concealer, foundation, airbrush makeup machine, and even once, started using Band-aids on an unruly pimple that I just didn’t feel like worrying about all day. But while it may have boosted my confidence to cover my face in a layer of makeup, it was likely doing me more harm than good.

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