Even after I understood what was happening, my first instinct was the one they've trained into all of us: if my skin needed more help, I'd give it more.
So I went all in. A richer moisturizer for the dryness. A hydrating serum to layer underneath. An eye cream. A separate night cream. Whatever the magazines and the algorithms were pushing that month, I tried it. If there was a "miracle" in a jar, it found its way onto my shelf.
And every time, there'd be that flicker of hope. The first few days of a new product always feel like maybe, maybe this is the one.
It never was.
My skin would drink it in and feel lovely for a couple of hours — and then, by lunchtime, that tight, parched feeling would creep right back in, like I'd done nothing at all. I'd find myself reapplying at my desk, in the car, before dinner, forever topping up a tank that wouldn't hold.
My routine had ballooned to seven steps. My counter had no room left on it. I was spending more on my face each month than I'd ever spent on myself in my life.
And my skin still wasn't happy.
Then one day, standing in front of a bathroom shelf packed with creams, serums, oils, masks, and treatments, I had a ridiculous thought:
How could I be using this much skincare and still feel like my skin wasn't getting what it needed?
That was the moment something finally shifted in my head.
I'd been so busy asking which product I was missing that I'd never stopped to ask the real question.
What if the answer was never going to be one more product at all?