Working Life with Keloids

I’ve been thinking a lot about jobs recently. Not the usual Sunday night dread, but the bigger picture. Over the years I’ve had plenty of different roles. Some I loved. Others I couldn’t stand from the first shift, like call handling for a popular communication company. What stands out most, though is how many chances I feel I’ve missed. Not because I wasn’t able to do the work, but because I didn’t feel comfortable being seen while doing it.

Most of my jobs have been customer-facing, either in retail or hospitality. And something I’ve never really admitted is I spent years convincing myself that my keloids would always be the first thing people noticed about me.

Why this matters

In conversations about careers, we rarely talk about how visible skin conditions shape our choices. It’s not just about which jobs we apply for. It’s also about what happens when we’re there. Explaining long absences, coping with flare-ups at the worst times and feeling like you’ve let your team down. It’s emotional and difficult, but it’s something you have to deal with head on. Because work isn’t only about paying the bills, it’s about building a career and lifestyle you’re happy with which also provides for you and your family.

The Stories We Don’t Tell

When I started out in retail, my keloids weren’t that noticeable. They were smaller then, and I’d had surgery and radiotherapy. I felt confident, maybe even the best salesperson on the floor. (Although I should confess that my sister once signed a contract with me out of pity. I promise I never pushed dodgy deals on anyone.)

Things changed after university, when I worked in a jewellery shop. I enjoyed the role and had great colleagues. But because I was face-to-face with customers every day, I found myself constantly trying to hide my skin. Every interaction left me hyper-aware of how I looked.

A few months in, I had a flare-up. My keloid became badly infected and swollen, and I ended up in A&E where it had to be lanced without anaesthetic. It was brutal. I was signed off for ten days, and when I went back everyone wanted to know why. I knew it came from a place of care, but I felt overwhelmed. Talking about it was the last thing I wanted. That job ended anyway when the shop closed, but the memory of those questions stayed with me.

 The hardest part came later, in the role I loved most. I worked in sport, on some of the biggest tournaments in the world. It was exhausting at times but incredibly rewarding. I got to be behind the scenes of how major events are organised. Access to stadiums, the excitement of live sport it was everything I wanted. But my keloids worsened, and I needed treatment after treatment. Over 18 months I had multiple rounds of cryotherapy, each one followed by four or six weeks of recovery. I was off work more often than I wanted, and even when I could work from home I was supposed to be on site. The guilt was heavy.

 Each time I returned, I threw myself into the job and worked harder to catch up. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that my time away was being held against me. In the end, when my contract wasn’t renewed, I couldn’t help but think that all those absences had played a part.

The Questions Worth Asking

So how do we build careers when our skin refuses to stick to a tidy schedule? How do we explain our needs without feeling like we’re making excuses? And how do we find workplaces that see our skills first, and our conditions second?

I often think about the paths I didn’t take. The roles I didn’t apply for because I convinced myself I wouldn’t cope. Some of those choices were right for me. Others, I’ll never know. Right now, I’m looking for new work after taking time out to focus on my health. It hasn’t been easy. I’ve applied for jobs I’m qualified for, ones I’m not, and even ones I’m over-qualified for. Not a single interview so far. Maybe it’s the job market. Maybe it’s my CV. Or maybe it’s because I’m meant to be doing something different. That’s why I’m keeping this newsletter going, and why I’m working on another project to support the wider skin condition community.

 What I do know is this, we deserve workplaces where medical leave doesn’t feel like a weakness, where flare-ups are understood as part of managing a chronic condition, and where what we bring to the job matters more than how we look.

Help us keep sharing real stories, you never know who your advice may help.