If you’ve ever had a keloid, you know it’s not just a scar.
It’s a living, unpredictable, sometimes embarrassing, sometimes painful part of your body that seems to have a mind of its own. Mine certainly did. And after years of hiding it under high collars and deflecting awkward questions, I decided to face it head-on—in the most literal way possible.
So I did something weird.
I tracked my keloid like a data scientist tracks a system bug.
Every. Single. Day. For 30 days straight.
I didn’t expect much. Maybe a few patterns. Maybe a clue about what makes it itch or swell. But what I found shocked me—about my skin, yes, but also about stress, shame, and the weird, quiet ways the body and mind talk to each other.
Why I Did It
This wasn’t some sudden “influencer healing journey.”
I started this out of frustration. My dermatologist had tried steroid injections. Silicone sheets. Topical treatments. Nothing lasted. It always came back—angrier, puffier, shinier.
But I realized I never actually observed it. Not deeply. Not like we observe acne with our 12-step routines or our weight with our calorie trackers.
What if, I thought, the keloid was trying to tell me something?
The Method: Not Exactly Scientific, But Deeply Personal
Every day, I recorded the following in my Notes app:
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Morning keloid size (estimated visually, with ruler as backup)
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Color and texture
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Any pain or itching
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What I ate
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Stress level (1–10)
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Sleep hours
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Skin products used
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Emotional state
I also took a photo every morning at the same time and lighting.
It was part diary, part lab experiment.
And yes, it got obsessive. But it also got… clarifying.
The Most Surprising Patterns
1. Stress Made It Visibly Worse
On days when I had anxiety spikes—like after that job interview or a family fight—the keloid would darken, swell, and sometimes feel warm. No new creams. No weird weather changes. Just cortisol, maybe. Or maybe the mind-body connection is more literal than we give it credit for.
2. Junk Food Wasn’t the Villain—But Sugar Spikes Were
Fast food? Surprisingly not a trigger.
But high-sugar days—like the night I devoured a pint of ice cream and doom-scrolled—were followed by inflamed, angry-looking skin the next morning.
It wasn’t the pizza. It was the insulin rollercoaster.
3. Sleep and Stillness Helped Flatten It
This shocked me: after a weekend of real rest (I mean no phone, no overthinking, no pretending to relax while secretly worrying), my keloid looked... softer. Paler. Less raised.
Rest isn’t just spiritual. It’s biological. Especially when your body’s trying to heal.
4. My Touching Habit Made It Worse
This was hard to admit. But I kept touching it. Subconsciously. Like a comfort thing. Especially while watching TV or talking on the phone.
Once I became aware of this and stopped, the keloid stopped flaring up so much. Turns out, it didn’t like attention—at least not that kind.
But the Most Unexpected Insight Wasn’t Physical
By day 19, something shifted.
Not in the keloid. In me.
I stopped seeing it as an invader and started seeing it as part of my personal timeline. A chapter of healing. A symbol, even.
It sounds cheesy, but I had to stop trying to “fix” the scar to understand what it was trying to reflect.
Would I Recommend This? Yes—But With a Twist
If you have a keloid (or any chronic skin issue), tracking it for 30 days might reveal triggers and patterns your doctor never mentions. But more than that, it forces you to witness your skin instead of judging it.
You begin to observe, not obsess.
And that shift—from control to curiosity—might be the most healing thing of all.
Things I’ll Keep Doing:
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Logging when I feel triggered or stressed (my keloid feels that too)
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Limiting refined sugars (this helps my whole body, not just the scar)
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Resting without guilt (it literally makes me look better)
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Touching my keloid less (it’s not a stress ball)
Final Thought: The Scar Isn’t Just on Your Skin
I used to think my keloid was ugly.
Now I see it’s evidence. Of survival. Of the way my body overreacts to protect me.
And sometimes, that overreaction is a lesson—not just a flaw.
So if you're reading this with a scar you hate, maybe try this:
Don’t rush to erase it.
Start by listening to it.
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