—A quiet reflection on what it means to move through the world with a delicate body.
Having sensitive skin has always been a natural part of my life— so natural that I never questioned it for almost thirty years.
But when I finally faced it seriously,
I was surprised by how much stress it had quietly created in my daily life.
“Itching” was normal for me.
I have always known how precious a moment is
when my skin isn’t itching.
By the time I was in elementary school,
I already had pollen allergies and reactions to grass.
Privately, I visited countless dermatologists over the years,
yet I rarely talked about my itching with anyone outside those clinics— because to me, it was simply normal.
In my school days, I heard comments like
“Your skin looks bad.”
Later, when I had partners,
some worried because I scratched myself in my sleep.
Sometimes it led to arguments.
Sometimes even to questions about my health.
To me, it was just
“this is the skin I was born with.”
During my student years and the year I worked in an office,
antihistamine pills made me so sleepy
that staying awake felt like a daily battle.
As I grew older, flare-ups began to last longer.
Eventually, allergy tests showed reactions
to nearly one-third of all the allergens they checked.
Steroid creams and anti-itch ointments became things
I could no longer live without.
And then I began preparing to move abroad.
That was when a new fear appeared:
What if I can’t get these medicines outside Japan?
What if they’re more expensive?
What will I do if my skin flares up?
Those questions made me decide,
in January 2024,
that it was time to finally try living without relying on medication.
I started visiting many dermatologists again—
but this time, searching for ways to heal without medication.
I eventually found two approaches that changed everything.
1. Reducing external irritation
I re-evaluated everything that touched my skin:
Shampoo, conditioner, soap, laundry detergent, dish soap,
moisturizers, lotions, primers, sunscreen,
every cosmetic product,
every piece of underwear and clothing.
As I stripped away unnecessary irritants,
I naturally returned to silk,
a material that had always been quietly woven into my identity
since growing up in Gunma.
2. Removing wheat
Through a self-paid traditional medicine clinic,
I learned I needed to avoid wheat and dairy—
essentially going gluten-free and casein-free.
I soon realized that
eating wheat directly caused my skin to itch.
At last, I understood
what my body had been reacting to this entire time
(even though I still don’t know the exact cosmetic ingredients that trigger me).
During my year traveling as a nomad,
I couldn’t casually use shampoo or soap from each country.
I always carried three months’ worth of products in my suitcase because trying something new was too risky.
But from this, I learned something essential:
My skin is not my weakness.
It is my teacher.
It guides me toward the materials, habits,
and ways of living that are gentle and true.
In the quiet moments when my skin feels calm,
I remember that comfort is not something given—
it’s something we learn to create for ourselves.