Relatable brings you the “Here’s How I Handle” series. Here we will share stories of little everyday curses that we would love to wish away, but have learnt how to manage. The ways in which our bodies may betray us, or our minds take control of us. Panic attacks, crowded rooms, awkward conversations, racist relatives and more. We all struggle to handle something; so let’s talk about it!
Here’s How Liz Handles: Uncontrollable Blushing.
For as long as I can remember, my skin has betrayed me.
Fully exposed, my insides seem to be on the outside. I have hot, sweaty palms and a thumping heart; prickles creeping up through my whole body and heading north at breakneck speed. My cheeks are glowing, a beacon of embarrassment and shame. There it is – visible to all – the spotlight on me and my luminous face. It is such a visceral response, but what triggers it and how can I manage it?
And there has always been a pattern. There are days when I feel deeply self-conscious, days when my confidence is low, possibly hormonal; maybe I’m tired or it just feels like one of those days. There’s every chance the blushing will flare up on these days, I can almost sense it lurking.
There was a point in my life – around the time my first marriage broke up – where I blushed whenever someone I didn’t know or felt intimidated by spoke to me, particularly men. I worried that I secretly fancied them. I was sure I could hear the sniggers; I felt like they did it on purpose to humiliate me, and there I was, right back in the playground with my skirt tucked in my undies. Heat creeping in, prickly skin on fire and an absurd desire to just remove myself and run. Quick Liz, create a distraction, a fake situation, say something dumb, shocking or overtly crass – anything to attribute my scarlet face to. I would bluster about, trying to find an excuse to remove my transparency, try to forge something else ridiculous for them to focus on.
So they don’t see inside. So they don’t go straight to the core of me and find my inadequacies; I don’t want them to see that I’m an imposter.
This was my strategy at the time, but of course I don’t think it really worked. I’m sure I wasn’t fooling anyone. The trigger itself – severe embarrassment – was still there. And I still felt utterly humiliated, compounded now by the onset of red cheeks. Here I was back in the midst of puberty, but I was actually 35!
These days, it happens less and less. I suppose as you get older and care less what people think of you, the triggers aren’t as palpable. Working on my self-worth over the last few years, and learning to love all of me, means loving my scarlet cheeks too. I know how to own it now. And of course, I still have moments of great discomfort when I feel the heat rising up and the burning sensation across my face. But being able to take the reins and accept that it’s just how my body responds, feels like an achievement. I can call it out now, and face the awkward moment. After all, it’s such a tiny moment in time and life is to short to spend panicking over red cheeks.
If anyone suffers from this affliction, I hope you find solace in reading this; trust me, you are not alone! If conquering it means labelling and acknowledgement, then that’s me: Big Blusher (and no to the men, I don’t fancy you)!
