When Zit Hits the Fan: What Acne Taught Me About Life

Here’s one universal truth I’ve found to be consistent: before things get better, they get dramatically, messily, even offensively worse.

Rock-bottom worse. Crying-on-the-bathroom-floor worse. “Is Mercury in retrograde?” worse. It’s like the Universe is playing this petty little game of chicken with you, dangling your dreams just out of reach like, “How bad do you want it, really?”

And nothing—not therapy, not bad dates, not even 2007-era low-rise jeans—illustrates this cosmic comedy quite like acne.

Yes, acne. Pimples. Zits. That glamorous cocktail of hormones, inflammation, and emotional destruction that turns your face into a red, sometimes bloody war zone and your self-esteem into collateral damage. I’m not talking about the occasional stress pimple you get before a big event or that one hormonal zit that pops up around your period.

I’m talking about full-blown, blistering, throbbing, life-interrupting ACNE (yes, that needed to be all caps). The kind that shows up uninvited and overstays its welcome like your ex who “just wants to talk.” Pro tip: they never just want to talk.

If you’ve lived it, you get it. You know exactly what I’m talking about. If you haven’t—congrats on winning the dermatological lottery, and please keep your unsolicited skincare advice to yourself.

See, for as long as I can remember, acne has been my clingy frenemy. She’s been with me through middle school sleepovers, first kisses, college parties, job interviews, and moments of existential crisis in the Sephora aisle. She’s seen me cry under fluorescent lights. She’s witnessed every well-meaning but ultimately unhelpful “Have you tried cutting out dairy?” and “Maybe you should wash your pillowcases more often?”

No offense, Brittany, but yes—I have a 12-step skincare routine that would make Dr. Jart green with envy. And no, I did not sleep in my makeup. I haven’t since 2015, and even then I woke up full of regret and hangxiety.

But the worst part isn’t the physical pain (although cystic acne absolutely feels like your face is actively plotting against you). It’s the emotional whiplash. The way your confidence shapeshifts from “hot girl at brunch” to “maybe I should stay in tonight” depending on how your skin decides to behave that day.

There is nothing quite like walking into a work meeting, having carefully plastered your face with full-coverage foundation and three layers of setting spray, only to catch your reflection at 3 p.m. and think, “Why do I look like I used mayonnaise as primer?”

Or worse: scheduling a first date on the exact day a new, angry forehead tenant moves in—unannounced, uninvited, and with no security deposit.

Sometimes, I’ve canceled plans. Lots of times, I’ve cried. Often, I’ve looked in the mirror and genuinely mourned the face I could have had if my skin would just Get. It. Together.

But here’s where it gets good. Here’s where I turn into your slightly unhinged, eye-rolling older sister with a drawer full of pimple patches (wish those were cool when I was 13) and a soul full of hard-earned wisdom: Purge it out. Literally and metaphorically.

Because acne—like most things in life—has to get worse before it gets better. Just like heartbreak. Just like growing out your bangs (we’ve all been there). Just like healing, evolving, and getting to that next shiny chapter of your life. The purge is painful, but it’s necessary.

It is not your fault. You are not dirty, lazy, unhygienic, or “doing something wrong.” You are not your acne. And you do not owe anyone the performance of perfect skin. Yup. Read that again.

What you are is healing—whether that’s through prescription meds or sheer patience, better moisturizers or weekly therapy. And healing, whether it’s your skin or something deeper, rarely looks cute while it’s happening. You’re unraveling, unlearning, oozing with revelations. But that doesn’t mean you stop showing up.

News flash: you don’t have to wait for perfect skin, perfect timing, or a perfect anything to live your life. Don’t worry, I just learned this too.

My best piece of advice? Keep doing the things that make you feel like you. Keep caring for yourself, even when it feels pointless. Key word here: keep. Consistency is key. And on the days when it’s especially hard, remind yourself: this is part of the process.

Do you think caterpillars know what’s about to happen to them? They spend months transforming, shedding, becoming. That’s you, baby. Just trust the process.

And just in case no one’s told you: you’re still allowed to be the main character, even if your face is currently hosting a guest star or two. You’re allowed to show up and live your life without apologizing for your pores. Do you think a man is apologizing for himself? Please.

You’re not broken. You’re becoming. Breakouts and all.