Time for a Sunscreen Truth Bomb

Advocating for sun-safe practices has been a part of my life for several years. I remind friends to wear sunscreen, tell my skin cancer stories publicly, and I share some pretty gnarly photographs of my Efudex treatments. Most who know me know how I feel about tanning and wearing sunscreen. I have learned to express myself openly regarding my skin cancer experience. One thing I have yet to get a firm grip on is admitting my own failures - and I have a pretty big one with regards to tanning.

Saying goodbye to tanning

In the spring of 2007, I was diagnosed with melanoma and my life changed in ways I didn’t like. Tanning had been a huge part of my life since I was around 12 years old. Laying out in the sun morphed into a tanning salon addiction in my 20s. My habits resulted in a small melanoma on my left arm which, in turn, produced a lengthy incision closed with stitches both inside and on the surface.

Dealing with denial

I have often written and talked about how this experience changed my habits. What I have not discussed is the days I found myself in denial - the days I tried to forget I had melanoma. For several months following my excision, I toyed with finding sunscreen and using it regularly as advised by my dermatologist. I listened. I tried. However, I was angry. A couple of decades of my life had been spent worshipping the sun. Giving it up didn’t come easily.

The truth about transition

Truth bomb here - I didn’t give it up right away. I did forgo all tanning bed visits, but it was incredibly difficult to start living the vampire life. Yes, I did buy the sunscreen. Using it regularly just did not come naturally for me. Neither did NOT wanting a tan. The desire was always there. Honestly? It still lingers and pecks at my door quite often. Tanning addiction is real and an insanely difficult addiction to kick when the source - the sun - is literally always there and seems so harmless and so inviting. I still wanted a tan, even if it was an accidental one.

For several months following my excision, I would glance at my growing collection of tubes and bottles of various SPFs and often look the other way. I know. It’s terrible. Denial is an ugly thing, and, like my own guilt, I was riddled with it. I have never admitted this to anyone. You, friends, are the first to hear it. Shame is the name of this game. Tanning was bad enough, but shunning the sunscreen? That was just stupid. I wanted it all to go away - the sunscreen, the advice, the shame. More than anything, I wanted the melanoma to never have been a part of me and the scar on my arm to be a bad dream.

A life of sunscreen and skin cancer prevention

I am here to admit my shortcomings, and admit them I have. I’ve spent a lot of time, especially over the last three years, advocating and telling others to “be sun-smart,” “wear sunscreen,” and “be proactive.” Every word of it was sincere and heartfelt, but we all struggle. Above all else, it’s been my hope that readers will understand they are never alone. Oddly enough, I am writing this because I know I am the one who is not alone.

It's okay to be angry with skin cancer

If you are newly diagnosed with skin cancer, lean on others. Find someone who has been in your shoes - the shoes that took you into the store to the sunscreen display. The shoes you are standing in while you leer at the many bottles and tubes you don’t want to buy. Those same shoes inside of which you curl your toes as you desperately fight the urge to sweep those bottles off the shelf and storm out of the store. I have worn those shoes - the angry ones. I didn’t sweep the bottles off the shelf - mine or the store’s.

Time passed. I calmed down, and I got with the sunscreen program. You will, too. I wasn’t alone in being angry and neither are you. There are ways to ease into sun-safe practices, and we can help you. Know that you will have as many good days as you do bad ones, and that is okay. It will all be okay.