I made a pivotal decision in 2007 that changed my life. It was a simple phone call, a quick “thank you,” and a scribble of a date on a notepad. It’s astounding how swiftly I resolved to abandon something I had been doing for nearly two decades, and seriously for about 15 of those years. While many around me agonized over car choices or endlessly browsed hairstyles, I ditched tanning as easily as flipping off a light switch.
Growing up in the ’80s and ’90s, I was part of the Teen magazine and Tiger Beat crowd. I experimented with electric blue mascara and tight-rolled jeans. My skin was a canvas of pale, in stark contrast to the tanned looks that were considered fashionable. Despite my fair skin, green eyes, and reddish blonde hair—dubbed “strawberry blonde” by my grandfather—I longed to be sun-kissed.
By the age of 12, my summers revolved around my folding lawn chair, baby oil, and a battery-powered radio. I would lie on that sticky chair, my skin glistening under the sun, diligently flipping every half hour like a rotisserie chicken. Friends reassured me that my sunburn would eventually turn to tan, but for me, that was rarely the case. Instead, I endured painful burns that faded without yielding the results I sought. Yet, my determination only grew stronger.
Little did I know, I was conditioning my skin for damage. My journey from baby oil to Hawaiian Tropic tanning lotion didn’t bring me closer to my tanning dreams, but being pale was simply not an option in those eras. After graduating in 1992, I began frequenting tanning beds, despite the ominous warnings I’d heard about their dangers. I eventually succumbed to the allure, spending hours in those heated beds, basking in the glow of artificial sunlight.
Over the years, my visits escalated to three or four times a week, especially during the warmer months. I achieved a semblance of the tan I so desperately craved, but at a steep price. By 2007, I was in a tanning bed from February to October, relishing every minute. What many fail to recognize is that tanning can become an addiction. I didn’t just enjoy tanning; I craved it. The smell of tanning accelerator became synonymous with success for me, and even the scent of my skin under those harsh lights was oddly comforting.
However, my tanning days came to a halt when a close friend noticed a dark brown mole on my arm. I hadn’t thought much about it until she urged me to consult my doctor. Within a week, I learned that mole was melanoma. That news led to a whirlwind of procedures, including the excision of the mole and subsequent dermatological checks that revealed more skin damage. I had become a survivor of skin cancer, and my experience compelled me to abandon tanning altogether.
Since then, I’ve adopted a staunch sunscreen regimen, using at least SPF 30 and vigilantly protecting my children’s skin. While I have faced the consequences of my past decisions, including multiple basal cell carcinoma treatments, I count myself fortunate. I’ve drastically reduced my chances of developing further melanomas by quitting tanning beds.
My story serves as a cautionary tale. With two teenagers who have only known summers filled with sunscreen, I am now pale but alive. Tanning may seem appealing, but it’s a gamble with your health.
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In summary, my experience serves as a reminder of the importance of sun safety. I urge you to think carefully before exposing your skin to harmful UV rays, as the consequences can be severe and lasting.