The First Step Is The Hardest

I put on my big coat, pulled up the hood and opened my front door. It was a bright cold day in March and I had the feeling that I wanted to go for a walk. I always liked to walk, run and keep fit and I knew that if I could get out of the house even for a little while each day, it would do me good. My fear though was that someone would see my Rosacea-covered, scaly face. My skin is my Achilles heel, the one thing that had always plagued my thoughts. So for someone to see it looking less than perfect, was a big deal for me back then. I kept my head down and didn't make eye contact with anyone I happened to meet along the way. 

As I sit here writing this now, I would love to hop back in time and tell that girl with her head hung low to hold it up high and be proud! Never be ashamed of what you're going through. This was all part of the journey though, and I can see that now as I am distanced enough from it to reflect on how each little thing that happened was all part of the greater plan of my steady recovery.

I walked the next day, and the next, and the next. I was therefore out of the house for half an hour a day and it made me feel good.  I was still very aloof however, I didn't like visitors coming round and I avoided all social situations.

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