If I could go back five years and whisper one thing to my past self, it would be this:
“Stop treating your keloid like a bad scar. It’s not a scar. It’s a story—and a condition.”
I didn’t ask for a keloid.
It started small—just a raised bump on my chest after a pimple that wouldn’t heal right. I figured it’d flatten over time. Spoiler: it didn’t.
Instead, it grew. Slowly, stubbornly, like a weed that had found the perfect soil.
And then the questions began:
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Is it cancer?
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Why is it itchy?
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Why won’t it go away?
The internet? A dumpster fire of misinformation.
Dermatologists? Helpful but robotic.
Friends and family? Either awkward silence or “have you tried coconut oil?”
So I learned the hard way. The slow way. The lonely way.
But you don’t have to.
Here’s everything I wish I knew back then—real talk, no fluff.
1. It’s Not a Scar—It’s a Condition
Let’s just kill the myth now.
A keloid isn’t just a “bad scar” or “too much collagen.”
It’s an overreaction. Your body is trying to protect you, but it’s doing too much—kind of like when your immune system gives you a fever for a paper cut.
So stop treating it with regular scar creams and expecting magic. It’s like putting a Band-Aid on a volcano.
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2. Time Doesn’t Heal All Things
That lie nearly cost me.
I kept thinking, “Maybe it just needs more time.”
But a keloid doesn’t follow that rule. In fact, time can make it worse—especially if you're doing nothing or, worse, unknowingly irritating it.
What helped? Taking action. Testing, tweaking, protecting, soothing.
The longer you wait, the more stubborn it becomes.
3. It’s Not Your Fault (But It Is Your Responsibility)
I beat myself up for years.
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“Why did I pop that pimple?”
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“Why didn’t I clean that wound better?”
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“Why didn’t I notice it growing sooner?”
But guess what? Some people get keloids from mosquito bites.
Others? From vaccines or chickenpox scars. It’s not about what you did wrong—it’s about how your body is wired.
Still, once it forms, you have to take ownership. Learn about it. Protect it. Be proactive.
That’s not shame. That’s self-respect.
4. Steroid Injections Help—But Only If You Do This Too
Cortisone shots? Yeah, I got them.
And yeah, they flattened my keloid… for a few months.
Then it came back—angrier and itchier than before.
What I didn’t know is that injections need support.
Here’s what actually worked:
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Following injections with silicone sheets (to hold the shape)
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Avoiding any friction or pressure (clothes, bags, straps)
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Staying consistent (one injection does not equal a cure)
Injections are a tool, not a fix. Use them strategically.
5. Your Mental Health Matters—Yes, Even for This
Nobody talks about the mental toll.
The constant itching. The ugly stares. The fear of intimacy.
Avoiding swimming. Hiding in high-neck shirts. Dodging cameras.
It adds up.
If you feel alone, know this: I once cried in a fitting room because a top revealed the scar I hated most.
Therapy helped. So did talking to other keloid warriors online.
But the real healing began when I stopped asking, “How can I hide this?” and started asking,
“How can I live better with this?”
Final Things I Wish I Knew from Day One
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Moisture matters. Dry skin itches. Itchy skin gets scratched. Scratching = trauma = growth.
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Sun exposure darkens it. SPF is your best friend, even on cloudy days.
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Not everything expensive is effective. Simpler routines often calm it better.
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You will find peace. It may not look how you imagined. But it’s real.
If You’re Just Starting Your Keloid Journey…
Don’t panic.
Don’t beat yourself up.
Don’t let one small, raised patch of skin make you feel unworthy of confidence, love, or comfort.
I lived with a keloid for five years. And while I still have it—it doesn’t have me anymore.
You’re not alone.
You’re not broken.
You’re just dealing with something your body thought was helpful.
Now you know better.
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