I noticed it during family dinner one night.
My 15-year-old son Elijah had his hood pulled up at the table. Again. He'd been doing that more and more—hiding his face, keeping his head down.
Those dark spots from acne breakouts had spread across his cheeks and forehead, and they just wouldn't fade no matter what we tried.
He started mumbling instead of speaking up. Avoiding eye contact. Making excuses to stay home instead of going out with his friends.
The worst part was watching him transform from my charismatic, outgoing little man into someone quiet and withdrawn.
When he told me he wasn't trying out for basketball this year, my heart broke.
"I just don't feel like it, Mom," he said. But I knew better.
As a mother, I knew exactly how he felt. I'd struggled with the same dark spots at his age, felt that same shame.
I thought maybe this was just something we had to live with, that dark spots were part of our reality.
I couldn't have been more wrong.







