Skin checks have always been important to me. As a preteen, I obsessed over examining my skin–looking in all the right places including my back, stomach, hairline, and even my feet. I left no stone unturned– no area unchecked. If I am completely truthful, my self-examinations exceeded the expectations of normal regularly planned monthly skin checks; most of the time, I scanned my skin daily. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was faithful. I was routine. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was stupid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
During those skin checks, I was sure of myself and knew exactly what I was looking for. There was one huge glaring problem: I was examining my skin regularly to make sure it was darker, and I was watching to make sure my tan lines were obvious. It was important to me that the only pale areas were under my clothing where no one would notice them anyway. I was quite literally checking to make sure I was damaging my skin. Was I burnt? Red enough? Enough contrast in the tan lines? This incredibly asinine habit went on from the time I was around twelve years old until I was 33 with two small children and countless visits to tanning salons under my belt. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Year after year, summer after summer, I made sure I spent as much time in the sun as possible and made up for any time lost to rainy days with visits to a tanning salon. As I became a busy working mother, I used tanning beds more frequently and jam-packed my beloved exposure to those harmful ultraviolet rays into 20-minute sessions sandwiched between the two fiberglass panels of a tanning bed. I faithfully followed those sessions with mirror checks to make sure I was tanning. Of course, I wasn\u2019t. That, in and of itself, might be the most ridiculous aspect of my story. I am fair and freckled, have reddish blonde hair, and don\u2019t tan easily, but Heaven knows I tried. Never, in all those years of tanning, was my skin a bronze color; it was always varying tones of red, and I kept a fresh-from-the-sun burnt look from February to October for about 15 years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n