Healing My Inner Child: From Dermatitis to Discovery
Growing up, a part of me always felt missing. I didn’t grow up with my family. I missed my mother’s embrace, the laughter of siblings, and the comfort of belonging. Instead, I was placed in environments where survival meant suppressing my emotions and burying my pain.
At just six or seven years old, my body began to show the first signs of distress. Painful, pus-filled spots appeared on both my hands
I didn’t know it then, but these were not just skin problems; they were my body’s way of crying out. Soon after, my kidneys weakened, and my childhood became an endless cycle of treatments.
Later, in boarding school, loneliness consumed me. I felt invisible, unwanted, and ashamed of who I was. With no one to confide in, I stored those feelings deep inside. Years passed, but my body never forgot.
Marriage brought new challenges. Trying to adapt to a different family background, I once again silenced myself. The longing for my own family remained, but I buried it under responsibility and expectation.
And then my body spoke again — louder this time. My hands flared up with severe eczema and dermatitis, cracking and bleeding.
My lower back pain returned, my left shoulder weakened, and I developed extreme allergies that made breathing difficult. Every flare-up was a message: “You are still carrying unresolved wounds.”
My lower back pain returned, my left shoulder weakened, and I developed extreme allergies that made breathing difficult. Every flare-up was a message: “You are still carrying unresolved wounds.”
When I visited my GP in the UK, his words cut deep: “Salma, there’s no cure for this.”
The advice was the same each time: wear gloves, avoid detergents, keep moisturising, use steroids when it got worse. I tried. Gloves gave some protection but trapped sweat inside, making the pain unbearable. Moisturisers helped briefly. Steroids brought temporary relief, but I soon abandoned them.
Being a mother, these precautions weren’t realistic to keep up with every day. Slowly, I lost confidence. I avoided people. I moved most of my work online just to keep going. And yet — I never gave up. Something inside me whispered that there had to be another way.
Looking back, I see how every symptom was triggered by different phases of my life.
In high school, when I pushed myself into science subjects without external support, my shoulder pain began — the weight of responsibility too heavy to carry.
After marriage, moving to a new country triggered my skin condition.
Financial struggles in my marital life triggered my back pain, echoing self-devaluation and lack of support.
My father’s death reactivated the burden on my shoulder — the thought that “I can’t carry this anymore.”
During my fourth pregnancy, I suffered placenta praevia, another expression of suppressed emotions, hurt, and loneliness that no doctor could decode.
My health challenges were not separate events. They were a thread — a story of self-devaluation, separation, and unspoken pain, each triggered in different ways.
For years, I tried medicines and managed symptoms, but true healing only began when I embraced the Root-Cause Approach. Through Emotional Freedom Techniques (EFT) and root-cause health coaching, I understood the connection between suppressed emotions and physical illness.
Skin, I discovered, is linked to separation conflicts. My hands — the part of me that longed for touch and connection — were carrying the unresolved trauma of childhood separation. My kidneys, back, and shoulder reflected layers of devaluation, loneliness, and grief. My body wasn’t betraying me. It was speaking for me.
This insight changed everything. Healing meant more than creams or tablets — it meant releasing years of grief, anger, and invisibility. It meant speaking the truth I had hidden: I am not unwanted. I am not incapable. I am worthy of love and belonging.
Each EFT session, each reflection, each moment of self-compassion peeled away another layer. Gradually, my hands began to heal. My breathing eased. My back and shoulder pain lessened.
Today, my story stands as living proof that healing is possible when we look beyond the surface. Symptoms are not enemies; they are messages — guiding us back to the wounds we’ve ignored and inviting us to restore balance.
To parents, I say: nurture your children with love, because the absence of it echoes for decades.
To anyone carrying the weight of old wounds: know that healing is possible. Your body remembers, but it can also forgive, transform, and thrive.
This is why I now dedicate my work to helping others through the Root-Cause Healing Approach — guiding them to see not just disease, but the deeper dis-ease behind it.
Healing is not a straight line. It’s a journey of discovery, one layer at a time. And every scar — inside and out — has a story to tell.
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