My love hate relationship with hot weather

Like most British people, I wait all winter for the sun. I complain when it’s wet and grey, then as soon as we get a stretch of warm weather I start moaning about that too. There’s something uplifting about walking out of the house in the morning and not needing a coat, or seeing the sun still up when you get home. But as much as I love it, the heat brings its own problems.

Over the past month or so, we’ve had some really good weeks. I’ve been able to meet friends, see family, and even travel around a bit. Those moments mean a lot to me. But summer, as nice as it looks on paper, isn’t always straightforward when you live with keloids.

People probably don’t realise how much effort goes into something as simple as stepping outside on a hot day. It starts with what to wear. Clothes need to be light enough to stop me sweating buckets, but not so thin that my keloids are on full display. They’re always visible anyway, so it’s more about how I feel. If a shirt is a bit loose or made from decent material, I convince myself it hides things better. Maybe I’m kidding myself, but it helps me get out the door.

Then there’s the issue of pain. If my keloids are aggravated, even a slightly heavy top feels unbearable because every move rubs against them. Add in the fact I sweat easily (unfortunate genetics) and suddenly picking out clothes feels like solving a puzzle.

And that’s before I’ve even left the house. I also need to brace myself mentally. I try to prepare for the possibility of questions from strangers about my scars. Most people don’t mean harm, but it’s a awkward conversation. What makes it harder is when my family or friends don’t tell me the full plan for the day. If I don’t know where we’re going or what we’ll be doing, the anxiety builds up quickly. (If you’re reading this and you’re a friend or relative, I say this with love: please give me a bit more warning!)

The funny thing is, once I’m actually out, it’s usually not as bad as I feared. Yes, there’s pain, but the anxiety often feels bigger in my head than in reality. Having people around me who I trust makes a huge difference.

This also spills over into holidays. My family love to travel, and so do I, but the anxiety is even stronger when I’m abroad. I have a soft spot for the Caribbean, in my completely biased opinion, it’s the best place in the world. I haven’t visited there in years, even though I’ve had chances. Travelling there should feel like coming home because of my heritage, but instead I worry about the practical things. I try to pack clothes that work for both comfort and confidence, I don’t know my surroundings as well, and I’m surrounded by strangers most of the time. Being in public from morning until night makes it hard to switch off and enjoy myself. The truth is, I miss out on experiences I’d probably love, but at the moment I’m just not comfortable enough to take that step.

If going out is one struggle, sleeping in hot weather is another. Everyone in the UK knows the pain of trying to sleep through a heatwave with a fan that just blows warm air around the room. Add in keloids, and it’s a different level.

Because I have them on all sides of my body, lying down comfortably is almost impossible. If one side isn’t hurting, the other side will be. The heat makes my skin extra sensitive, so it feels like my body refuses to rest. Some nights I stay awake until exhaustion finally wins. Other times, like right now (I’m writing this at 6:45 in the morning), I just don’t sleep at all.

Last summer was even worse because I had cryotherapy in June. Recovery lasted six weeks, and it meant dressings, cleaning, limited movement, and a lot of discomfort. That period was miserable, and I’m honestly glad I haven’t had treatment this summer. I still need it, but combining recovery with hot weather is a nightmare I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Over time I’ve tried different things to cope. Ice packs, gels, creams, prescribed painkillers. Some work briefly, but the pain always comes back. It feels like it’s buried somewhere inside the skin where nothing can quite reach it. Cold showers give temporary relief, but they leave me too awake to sleep, so I save those for daytime.

At the moment, I don’t have a solution. The only thing that gives me comfort is knowing British summers never last. Soon enough the rain will return, and I’ll go back to complaining about the grey skies instead.