Eczema has always been part of my life. For years, it felt manageable, the occasional flare-up here and there, nothing too disruptive. But in 2021, things changed dramatically, and suddenly, eczema was taking over my life in ways I never expected.
“At the time the country was coming out of lockdown, but it felt like lockdown was continuing for me.”
What started as a small flare on my arms became an almost constant cycle of infection, antibiotics, and exhaustion. I found myself barely leaving the house. Some days, the pain was too much. Other days, it was the knock to my confidence that kept me indoors.
When the flares were on my face, even a light breeze stung. The exhaustion was like nothing I’d ever known. I stopped making plans with friends and started worrying about how long I could keep doing my job. Stronger topical steroids didn’t help — in fact, after using them, I experienced one of my worst flares yet.
At one point, my partner pointed out I’d barely spoken for days. My face was so dry and tight, it literally hurt to talk.
Waiting for answers
I was finally referred to dermatology, hoping for systemic treatment. But instead, I was sent for patch testing and UV sensitivity tests. It was a long process, with more questions than answers. The worst flare I’ve ever had hit in the summer of 2022, just as I was still waiting for results. I stopped going to the GP, I already had a drawer full of steroid creams, and nothing seemed to work.
All of this started to take a toll on my mental health. I was diagnosed with generalised anxiety. I felt like I’d lost control of my life.
“There was always something uniquely euphoric about leaving the house for the first time in a week with clear(ish) skin.”
Even in the darkest times, I found little moments of joy. I took up climbing, it was gentle on my skin and gave me something to look forward to. When I could get out, the fresh air felt like a breakthrough.
Turning a corner
Things started to improve in 2023. My patch and light testing came back negative, no clear cause, but I was finally offered systemic treatment. I started methotrexate, and for the first time in years, my skin calmed down.
I began running again, booked a holiday abroad, and felt like I was getting my life back. But methotrexate came with its own challenges. I caught every bug going and was constantly unwell through winter, so I had to stop.
Finding stability
In early 2024, I started dupilumab. It hasn’t been a miracle cure, but it’s given me stability. I still get flares, like right now, writing this with dry, flaky skin on my chin, but they’re less intense and less frequent. Most importantly, they’re more predictable.
During the Covid-19 pandemic, I had shifted from someone who spent most weekends in the city centre to someone you might call outdoorsy, but in those couple of years afterwards I had struggled to do the things I enjoyed like hiking, cycling and running, because of my skin. Now I’m able to do all the things I wished I could do during the worst times. I’ve been mountain biking and back-country skiing in the Arctic, I’ve been on two multi-day cycling trips; and last year I ran the Great North Run with my dad, raising £800 for the National Eczema Society. While in 2021 and 2022 I was bailing out on group hikes due to my skin – now I’m organising and running them.
“Now I’m able to do all the things I wished I could do during the worst times.”
I wouldn’t wish it on anyone
Looking back, I wouldn’t wish that experience on anyone. Eczema affected every part of my life, physically, mentally, emotionally. It impacted my relationships, my job, and my finances. There were points where it felt never-ending.
And there are still so many frustrations, delays in treatment, lost referrals, a lack of understanding from healthcare professionals. My patch test referral took 18 months because the paperwork was lost. Those kinds of delays make people like me feel invisible.
But today, I feel more like myself again. I’m still managing my skin, and probably always will be. But I’ve found my confidence, my energy, and a real sense of freedom. That’s something I hold on to, especially on the hard days.
