There are moments living with HS that stay with you.
Not because they were the most painful.
But because of how they made you feel.
This is one of mine.
I was at work, sitting in my boss’s office. It was a normal day, or at least it started that way. We were talking, going over something work-related, and I remember trying to focus on the conversation.
But I was uncomfortable.
I had an abscess, and sitting was already difficult. I kept shifting slightly in the chair, trying to find a position that didn’t make it worse. If you live with HS, you know that feeling—trying to sit still while your body is telling you something is not right.
I got through the meeting and went back to my day.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Until later.
My boss came to find me. He pulled me aside and, in a quiet and respectful way, told me there had been a blood stain left on the chair.
I didn’t even realize what had happened.
At that moment, everything kind of froze.
There’s a certain kind of embarrassment that comes with HS that’s hard to explain. It’s not just about what happened—it’s the feeling of being exposed in a way you didn’t choose. The feeling that something deeply personal showed up in a public space without your control.
I remember feeling shocked first. Then embarrassed. Then just… small.
Not because of anything my boss did. He handled it as professionally and respectfully as anyone could. But that didn’t change how it felt.
It’s moments like that which people don’t think about when they hear “skin condition.”
They don’t think about how unpredictable HS can be.
They don’t think about how quickly things can change.
They don’t think about the situations you can find yourself in without warning.
And they definitely don’t think about the emotional side of it.
That moment stayed with me.
Not because it defined me, but because it reminded me how much HS can affect everyday life in ways that go far beyond what people see.
If you’ve ever had a moment like that—where something happened and you felt embarrassed, exposed, or out of control—you’re not alone.
Those moments don’t define you.
They’re just part of what it means to live with something that most people don’t fully understand.
And even in those moments, you’re still showing up. You’re still moving forward.
And that matters.