I was christened with my first pimple during the first week of high school. It sprouted up, ever so embarrassingly, and I didn’t know what to do. This was uncharted territory for me. I had never experienced this before. So without giving it too much thought, I popped it. And thus began falling down a rabbit hole I wish I had never stumbled upon.
The journey my skin and I have been on is…interesting (to say the absolute least). Since I was 14, I’ve had breakout after breakout; on my face, back, and across my décolletage. In my youth, I believed myself to be at the apex of a more grotesque and disgusting kind of horror, with pus and blood emerging from my skin like the chestburster scene in Alien (1979). I made my mom buy me every acne skin product under the sun, had both a Proactiv AND Curology subscription, I slathered heavy foundation on my face at 6:00 AM before school five days a week to hide my shame, yet nothing was changing. I felt cursed.
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Why me? Why do I have to experience acne in such cruel and unforgiving ways? What ancient deity did I unknowingly piss off to get jinxed with this fate?
*Insert record scratch sound here.*
Enough theatrics. It wasn’t a curse. It was just puberty.
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As if my body changing wasn’t enough, I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, or PCOS, when I was 18, four years after my initial dance with the devil (the devil, of course, being acne). PCOS affects everyone differently, but a big aspect for me is the acne that it causes. When I wrote about it in 2024, I was on the tail-end of a nasty breakout that made my face look unrecognizable.
But I can’t give PCOS all of the credit for my skin looking how it does. My sleep schedule is horrendous, and I’m constantly under tons of stress! I touch my face with dirty hands without even realizing! I don’t wash my pillowcases as often as I should! I eat stupid amounts of greasy junk food!
The pimples I once had have scarred over, leaving a map of constellations on my skin. I do the best I can to take care of it, with face washes, moisturizers, serums, and exfoliants galore. Some work, some don’t. But I’m no longer engulfed in nitpicking over every little thing I do that might lead to a whitehead or two showing up.
Everyone gets acne. You, your neighbor, your favorite celebrities; even animals. Yet despite what every makeup brand or influencer will have you think, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.
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My skin has good days and bad days, just like life. The only thing I can do is try to do what I feel is right for me and my body. And I’ll say this: it has gotten better. My skin is a lot clearer than it was even a month ago. It just took time and patience. And a ridiculously attentive effort to keep my hands off my face.
Strike Out,
Kaya O’Rourke
Editor: Isa Pullen
Saint Augustine
Kaya O’Rourke is a writer for Strike Magazine, Saint Augustine. She’s a big fan of film and art houses, curating the perfect Spotify playlist for every occasion, and spending time with her BFFS (her mom, younger brother Cole, and their two cats). When she’s not updating her Letterboxd or working on her screenplay, you can reach her on Instagram at @kayaorourke.
