I started having skin problems when I was around fourteen, in high school. I don’t remember the exact name of the condition, but I remember the result very clearly: acne, pimples, and later, dark spots that stayed long after everything else healed.
As a teenage girl, that alone was hard. Add to that the fact that I was mixed in Ukraine – visibly different from what people expected to see, with so called “frizzy, unmanageable” hair I didn’t understand yet. Beauty quickly became something I felt behind in. At that age, I believed that if I didn’t act fast I would lose my chance at being in my “prime” — as if fast beauty results were the only way to feel safe.
My skin made me feel unattractive. My hair felt like something to hide. At that age, beauty wasn’t pleasure or expression. It was survival.
I went to a dermatologist, used treatments, and eventually things improved. But what stayed with me was the fear of it coming back — and the belief that if I didn’t do something, I would lose control again.
My twenties: chasing fast beauty results
In my twenties, everything opened up. YouTube, forums, blogs, DIY recipes – suddenly there was information everywhere. Curly hair routines. Face masks. Oils. Powders. Secrets passed from one comment section to another.
I was hopeful. And overwhelmed.
I followed rules, then forgot them. Then came back obsessively. Then disappeared again. I truly believed that more effort meant better results. And I didn’t even realize how much mental space beauty was taking.
Fast results were reassuring. If something worked quickly, I felt like I had to keep doing it — otherwise it would stop working, or worse, everything would come back. Beauty started to almost feel urgent. Not because I wanted perfection, but because I wanted reassurance.
The turmeric mask phase
The turmeric face mask is the best example of that time, especially in my mid-twenties. I discovered it online, through forums and blog posts where people shared before-and-after results. It worked. My acne scars faded. My skin looked more even.
So I kept going.
At my peak, I was using it daily for a couple of weeks. It stopped being a choice and became a must. Everything was yellow: my fingertips, the towels, the bathroom sink. The texture was almost sticky, and when it dried it turned back into something like fine sand or powder on my face. My skin felt a little dry afterward, but I didn’t want to stop because I was afraid of losing the results.
After a while, the routine exhausted me. I started to wonder if the results I’d been chasing were ever really there or if my skin had been fine on its own the whole time. Looking back now, I realize something simple but important: acne scars fade on their own. Slowly. Naturally. If I were to use that mask again today — and I have, once or twice since then — I apply it only on a small area. Not my entire face. Not every day.
At the time, I wasn’t enjoying the results. I was managing them. And that’s the difference.
Hair taught me something skin didn’t
I’ve always felt more emotionally attached to my skin than my hair. Your face is right there, you can’t hide it. Hair, you can put in a bun and move on. But hair taught me patience in a different way.
With curls, you don’t get instant results. You don’t even get consistent results. You learn to hope for the best, detangle slowly, accept variability. Hair care is long, repetitive, sometimes tedious — and oddly more sustainable.
Not because it’s easier, but because it forces you to slow down.
When I dealt with postpartum hair loss, I turned to a fenugreek hair mask. I did it weekly for a while, then less often. It was long and tedious, and eventually I stopped. But it taught me something important: consistency is possible when pressure is gone.
I wrote more about that experience here.)
From fixing to ritual
At some point, beauty stopped being a fix and became something else.
A ritual.
For me, a ritual is repetitive, intentional, and calm. It’s not about speed. It’s about presence. It’s something you do because you want to, not because you’re afraid of what will happen if you don’t. I still care about results. I always will. But I do not need them immediately. Sometimes the mask works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes the best thing is doing nothing at all.
Where I am now
Right now, I don’t do much for my skin. And I’m at peace with that. There are people who wash their face with water and have perfect skin. Sometimes doing less gives better results, or at least more peace. My skin does its thing. I let it.
What matters most is knowing that if I want to come back to it, I can.
Beauty now feels optional. Chosen. Not mandatory — the opposite of what it felt like at fourteen, when it was survival.
Motherhood played a role, of course — time is limited, energy is precious — but this shift isn’t only about being a mom. It’s about knowing myself better. Protecting my energy. Trusting pauses.
What I wish I had known earlier
If I could tell my younger self one thing, it would be this: there’s no destination. You fix the problem, and then there’s just another one. The rushing doesn’t end where you think it does. Chasing fast beauty results never brought me peace, learning to wait did.
Looking beautiful or just “normal” doesn’t disappear if you slow down. It doesn’t punish you for resting. The turmeric will still work next month. The curls will still form tomorrow. Your skin will still respond to care whenever you’re ready to give it.
You’re allowed to want fast results. And you’re also allowed to not want anything at all for a while.
Maybe you’re reading this and you’re still in the rushing phase. That’s okay too. There’s no judgment here. Sometimes we need to go through the urgency to understand what’s on the other side of it. Sometimes the lesson only makes sense in hindsight.
Feeling okay in your skin is still valid — whether it’s quick, slow, or paused.
And sometimes, the most freeing thing is simply letting it take its time.
