Finding The True Cause

The other day I was angry. There was no reason for it. I was annoyed at everyone and everything. Everything seemed to get on my nerves and make me short-tempered. That is not like me. I'm usually very easy-going.

I had to get to the bottom of it. There had to be a reason.

After a few days, I finally tracked down the reason, and it wasn't anything I would have guessed.

A friend told me of an incident with her 15 year old daughter who was doing some part-time after-school work with a local bakery. The boss's wife set her up so she could take the blame for something she didn't do and therefore could be asked to leave.

I remembered back to my own early working days as a teenager and young school-leaver looking for work. There were some things that happened to me during my job searching that I never told anyone about. My residual anger stemmed from this. Injustice eats me away. Injustice and sorrow.

From the time I was 10 years old until in my 30s, I had severe cystic acne. I had multiple treatments over the years and, until I was in my mid 30s, there was no cure.

At the very time I should have been enjoying life, I was virtually crippled by this devastating disease. Because my skin was so fair, the acne showed up as dark purple welts and bumps all over my face. The only clear spaces on my face were my eyelids. There were times when I wished I'd been severely burned. At least people would accept a burn scar. Nobody accepted acne. They all looked down on me and considered me to be dirty.

Of course, I was the opposite. But the more I tried to scrub my face clean - the worse I made the condition.

When it came time for me to look for work. This problem made it even harder for me. I'd apply for jobs and get interviews, but then would be told - right to my face - I'm sorry, but we can't hire someone who looks like you.

I would thank them for their time and walk out with a smile on my face. When my mother or friends asked how the interview went, I would always say, "really well." I was too embarrassed to tell them the truth. Inside, I would be devastated, and I would hide it with a bright smile, as always.

During the holidays, when I was about 17, I helped friends out in a shop for a while, just serving at the counter, etc. One day the Health Inspector came in. He pointed to me and said very loudly so everyone in the shop could hear, "That's a health risk. You can't have someone like that handling food. She has to leave immediately." I froze. Everyone in the shop stared at me. I wished I could have sunk through the floor and disappeared. I was in shock, I think. When I got home, I had to make up a plausible reason why I was no longer wanted in the shop. I told everyone that there was no longer enough work so I my help was no longer needed for the moment.

My real job search began. Countless times I was interviewed. Countless times, the boss would look at me and explain, often with compassion, sometimes not, that they couldn't take a risk on having me serve customers.

In other words - I would scare the customers away!

You can imagine what that did to my self esteem. Zero!

I have carried the hurt of that around all these years. Silent. An inner knowing that people don't look beyond what they see on the surface. I saw it and experienced it so many times over the years. I wished so hard that people could see ME and not just my terrible skin. I felt like I was being held prisoner behind a mask of ugliness that I would never break free from.

In my mid 30s, a cure was finally found. It was rather radical, but it worked. Roacutane, a drug that burns you from the inside out. I took it for just over a year and endured the side effects - which I thought were minor compared to a life time of terrible, painful cystic acne. The cure was miraculous. I have real skin now. Even most of the scars have faded. I still have the deepest scars, if you look hard. They just look like lines on my face now. Hahaha! I don't mind lines. It was wonderful discovering how lovely my skin really was when it emerged. The ugly mask dropped away. It changed my whole life!

I'm not angry at all those employers who looked me in the eye and said what they had to say. I realize it must have been very hard for some of them to say it. I can only imagine what it would be like to have to tell someone that they were too ugly to serve customers. I don't think I could do such a thing. But that was back in the 1970s, and things were very different back then.

I am angry at those, like the Health Inspector, who could have quietly taken me aside and softened the blow a little. I'm angry at how he publicly ridiculed me. That was so unnecessary. I'm also angry that not one person in the whole shop said anything to him about the way he spoke to me. I'm angry that they all looked at me with such hatred. It was as though they blamed me for being a threat to whatever they were buying.

I'm also angry that I wasn't even allowed to cry for all that hurt.

I had to endure a long 25 years of such treatment and attitudes.

I can feel my anger giving way to sorrow here. The injustice of it all is very sad and I acknowledge that sorrow as a very big lesson for me.

The blessings I have carried with me from that experience are deeply ingrained. I know, from the other side, what it is like to be ridiculed, made fun of, put down, discarded, thrown aside, excluded, prejudiced against, judged, publically humiliated... the list goes on.

I know a true heart when I find one. I know a deeply hurt soul when I find one.

Only those who have been through what I've experienced, know what it feels like. For this expertise, I am truly grateful.

My experiences, as bad as they've been, have fueled my compassion and understanding to levels - or depths - that can only be reached by suffering the same or similar fates.

My gratitude to the universe for my diverse life-lessons is all-consuming.

My life is truly blessed.