Introducing Melissa
Skin Impressions ambassador Melissa is a professional dancer, living and working in New York.
Melissa developed psoriasis before the age of one, and what had begun as a small patch on her cheek covered 90% of her body by the time she was diagnosed at the age of three.
Despite psoriasis having had a large impact on her life, Melissa views psoriasis as just a small part of who she is. Here she gives us a very honest account of the emotional impact of psoriasis and how she has overcome the challenges she has faced.
You know the dream where you walk into high school and suddenly realize you’re naked and everyone is staring?
I was born with psoriasis, and by age three it had spread across my entire body. My parents spent much of their savings on a trip to the Dead Sea in Israel in hopes that it would cure me, and it did – for a while. A year later my psoriasis came back, even more aggressively than before. In the twenty years since then, I have felt ashamed of my skin, and the need to cover myself up. I have felt the physical manifestations of itching and fierce pain, which keep me up at night; and the emotional and social components too. I have felt like I was stuck in the dream.
As a child there were parents who wouldn’t let their kids play with me, and I was either avoided or teased. I was the object of name-calling and blatant stares, which at best were of pity and at worst, disgust. I grew up wanting to be absolutely invisible. Eventually I tried to be strong by denying the hardships, pretending that living with my condition was no big deal. My condition alone did not define me, I would say to myself, and certainly did not control me. While this is completely true, I was reluctant at the time to admit that I was nonetheless facing very real struggles. I was in a constant flux, because I didn’t know how to accept my condition for what it was: both a powerful source of pain and a characteristic that is only a very small part of my individuality.
Because of the constant adversity, I resolved at a young age to live a life that satisfied me, mostly because I could only envision a solitary future. For a child this was at once tragically cynical and liberating. Then when I was ten years old, I took my first ballet class. I vividly remember that very first day, because it was then that I looked into the mirror and for the first time saw the reflection of a beautiful, powerful girl, instead of a helpless, diseased body.
You know the dream where you walk into high school and suddenly realize you’re naked and everyone is staring?
I was born with psoriasis, and by age three it had spread across my entire body. My parents spent much of their savings on a trip to the Dead Sea in Israel in hopes that it would cure me, and it did – for a while. A year later my psoriasis came back, even more aggressively than before. In the twenty years since then, I have felt ashamed of my skin, and the need to cover myself up. I have felt the physical manifestations of itching and fierce pain, which keep me up at night; and the emotional and social components too. I have felt like I was stuck in the dream.
As a child there were parents who wouldn’t let their kids play with me, and I was either avoided or teased. I was the object of name-calling and blatant stares, which at best were of pity and at worst, disgust. I grew up wanting to be absolutely invisible. Eventually I tried to be strong by denying the hardships, pretending that living with my condition was no big deal. My condition alone did not define me, I would say to myself, and certainly did not control me. While this is completely true, I was reluctant at the time to admit that I was nonetheless facing very real struggles. I was in a constant flux, because I didn’t know how to accept my condition for what it was: both a powerful source of pain and a characteristic that is only a very small part of my individuality.
Because of the constant adversity, I resolved at a young age to live a life that satisfied me, mostly because I could only envision a solitary future. For a child this was at once tragically cynical and liberating. Then when I was ten years old, I took my first ballet class. I vividly remember that very first day, because it was then that I looked into the mirror and for the first time saw the reflection of a beautiful, powerful girl, instead of a helpless, diseased body.
As a ballerina, my body became my canvas, and my ultimate sense of expression. The years of disgust I had felt towards my body began evolving to love and respect. While my skin remained a source of pain, through rigorous training I came to appreciate all that my body could do. I’d feel the beating of my heart, the air in my lungs, and the burn of my muscles. I’d feel grateful.
“Because of the constant adversity, I resolved at a young age to live a life that satisfied me, mostly because I could only envision a solitary future”
Despite my developing mental strength, psoriasis was still a serious burden to bear. I was still constantly teased, and I would still cry. In these moments I’d feel a profound sadness and helplessness, as well as a sense of shame for being born with a disease. But armed with my newfound admiration for my body’s capabilities, I realized my psoriasis had given me a unique gift of strength – one that came from enduring pain, not from denying it. I was right that my disease did not define me, but the journey on which it had led me certainly did. Having psoriasis meant that I had a choice: I could let the disease dictate my actions, or I could summon the strength to live life on my own terms, in spite of the disease.
I’m no longer trying to conceal the hardships of having a genetic disorder. There are days where I break down and cry and pray for a cure or a miracle, but, even in those dark moments, I know that I’m so much more than my skin. I have pursued my passion and achieved excellence in a field that requires me to expose my skin on stage. My body is covered in a loud red rash, but the grace and poise I exhibit through dance allows me to take something ugly and make it beautiful. My body has been my greatest struggle, but it is also my means of finding good in the bad, of taking the unaesthetic and creating a form of art. Psoriasis is an undeniable burden, but somehow it is ultimately powerless.
“It’s important to remind yourself that anyone who treats others differently for having psoriasis probably isn’t worth having in your life, whether you have the disease or not”
The challenges of dancing with a severe skin disease extended beyond the physical. Certain dancers and directors would overlook me, and I had to fight to prove my worth. This discrimination became my resolve; I would be so good that everyone would want to watch me dance, no matter what my skin looked like. Dancing with psoriasis taught me that beauty is found in virtue and merit, and not in flawless skin.
A major contributor to public ridicule is simply that people are largely unaware that psoriasis is a common and noncontagious disease. With this in mind, I often offer my own unsolicited information to strangers when I notice them staring. I always smile, and with open communication everyone generally feels at ease. Sharing about psoriasis really doesn’t have to be a big deal. Everyone has hardships, and psoriasis happens to be one you can see.
Of course, even with a positive attitude, there will always be those who are unwilling or unable to see past your skin condition. While you cannot predict these adverse reactions, and while they will always be hurtful, it’s still important to give people chance to learn and respond. People will often surprise you with how understanding and compassionate they can be. My friends are so reassuring, and the fact that I’m able to go to them with my insecurities makes our friendships even stronger. It’s important to remind yourself that anyone who treats others differently for having psoriasis probably isn’t worth having in your life, whether you have the disease or not.
Whether I dance on stage or walk down the street, I live my life with courage and strength as I continue to battle this disease. I often feel the pain of the high school dream, but that is not to say that I am asleep.
If you have been inspired by Melissa’s story, or would like to share your own experiences with a severe skin condition, let us know on our Skin to live in Facebook community.
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