Rebuilding Rob

Note: It turns out I answered this exact question from The Coffee Monsterz one year ago. Looking back, while the Michigan winter hasn’t changed, my perspective has. Last year was about the insecurity of it all; this year is about choosing my battles.

Like a desert

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Is there a hygiene habit you struggle to keep up with?

One aspect of my hygiene that I could probably be better with is my skin. I have really, really dry skin! So much so, in fact, that it has been called “scaly” before. I have been compared to dehydrated lizards in the desert. It is that dry. On more than one occasion, I’ve joked with my African-American students: “See? Even white people get ashy too!”

The DNA of the Desert

It’s always been like this. I’m sure part of it is just in my DNA. When I was young, I had very red, almost orange hair, freckles, and a very fair complexion. Because of all of that, I am prone to sunburns. Somewhere along the way, I realized that my skin is just naturally parched.

A lot of people look at me and say, “You just need some hand lotion, Rob.” I wish it was that easy. If I could just buy some Jergens or Curel right off the counter at Walmart, put it on my hands once a day, and magically be better, I would do it.

More Than Just Dryness

But I have eczema and psoriasis. When my skin flakes away or cracks because it dries, new skin—harder, more calloused skin—grows right over it. And here’s the crazy part: it’s not getting any better as I get older. It’s getting worse.

Michigan winters are absolute hell. My skin gets so dry to the point that my knuckles will crack and bleed, simply because that’s where the skin has to bend. Part of it is my fault; a lot of times I just throw in the towel and resign myself to the fact that my skin is garbage.

The Maintenance Struggle

There are times when I do get hyper-vigilant about it and I see marginal improvements. I usually have to use moisturizer that has the thickness of Vaseline in order to get things really hydrated. For those odd cracks right along my finger joints, I’ll usually put some Neosporin on with a Band-Aid, keep it covered for a good 24 hours or so, and I do see some immediate results.

But to realistically do something like that with all the skin on my body, I would basically have to turn myself into a mummy for a few days. I’m just not interested in doing that. So I make do. I live with it. It sucks—especially when I’m at work and I can see dead skin flaking off on my face and landing on my shirt. Even looking at the dashboard in my car, I know there’s dead skin everywhere—just little flakes and particles that end up looking like dust fibers.

Choosing My Battles

I sometimes wonder if it’s some sort of vitamin or mineral deficiency I have, but I’ve never really looked into it deeply. To make clearing my skin the driving focus of my life would require more bandwidth than I have. I have too many other things on my plate—other health priorities that demand my attention. So, I manage. I cope.

In a way, I’m protecting myself from the cycle. I know I’d be a dermatologist’s dream if I went regularly, but there’s a cynical part of me that sees modern healthcare as a game of maintenance rather than fixing. I can already see the monthly appointments and the fat insurance payouts. For now, I’ll take my marginal improvements and my “ashy” jokes over becoming a permanent resident in a specialist’s waiting room.

Thanks for stopping by Rebuilding Rob. Be sure to like 👍, comment, and subscribe below. It’s greatly appreciated! Also, feel free to follow me on social media and check out my recent posts!

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The article “Even White People Get Ashy” first appeared on Rebuilding Rob.