A Journey Through Fire: My Battle with Eczema

The nights were the worst. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, my body burning with an itch so deep it felt like it was clawing at my bones. Sleep was a luxury I could barely afford. My skin cracked like dry earth, raw and red, each movement a fresh reminder of the battle I was losing.

Eczema wasn’t just a condition: it was a shadow that followed me everywhere. It dictated what I could wear, how I could move, even how I felt about myself. As a child, I didn’t understand why my body was betraying me, why my skin refused to heal.

Desperation drove my family and me across the world, searching for a cure that always seemed just out of reach. We went to India three times, seeking ancient remedies, hoping the wisdom of another land would succeed where modern medicine had failed. I even turned to homeopathy, a soft whisper of hope wrapped in the illusion of science. It didn’t work. Nothing seemed to.

Through sleepless nights and relentless pain, I learned resilience the hard way. The world around me kept moving, and I had no choice but to move with it. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, things began to change. The flare-ups became less frequent, the pain dulled, the nights grew easier. My skin, once my greatest enemy, began to heal.

Looking back, I see not just the suffering, but the strength it forged in me. Eczema tried to break me, but I am still here. And that is enough.