I’m Too Sick to Work, But I Still Budget Money for Makeup

The other day, I found myself staring at the latest collection from Melt Cosmetics online. I’d been eyeing it on Instagram for weeks. Did I need it? No. But it’d been at least five months since I last bought myself makeup, so I clicked add to cart and got all $200 worth of the line.

While this might seem like a common splurge for many makeup enthusiasts, it definitely feels like something others might judge me for—honestly, it’s something I judge myself for at times. Despite the fact I that usually only buy makeup around three times a year, as someone who’s unemployed, I don’t exactly have money to spare.

After being diagnosed with multiple chronic illnesses—the biggest being Lyme disease—I’m now living at home with my parents at the age of 27 because my illnesses have taken over my ability to go out and live my own life. While other twentysomethings joke that “adulting” is hard, I’ve had to ration the $12,000 I saved as I pushed my way through internships and entry-level jobs. But I’m lucky that’s not always on my mind. I’ve got too many other things to worry about.

Right now my focus is on being less sick or perhaps just feeling “fine.” I’m often exhausted and lightheaded; starving and completely without an appetite. I have both insomnia and the inability to wake up. Sometimes my joints get so swollen, it hurts too much to even hold my phone. And when I’m struck with a bout of intense nausea, I’m just happy I don’t accidentally throw up on my cat. Through all that, though, I still have to muster up the energy to go to weekly doctor appointments and treatments.

Most of this feels like a bearable discomfort, because I’m so used to it all by now. And yet, when I look at myself, barefaced, in the mirror, all I still see is a sick person.

I first started caring, like really caring, about makeup when I was 18. I’d just started to develop skin condition on my face. I couldn’t just cover it with concealer; I thought I needed full-on foundation. To not look gaunt, I thought, why not add some blush? Ooh, and highlighter? If I was going that far, I might as well enjoy doing my eye makeup and throw on some lipstick for good measure. Before long, makeup grew into a hobby. And then when I got really sick, my use for it evolved again. It became my armor—a shield to protect my self-esteem. I might be sick, but I don’t have to look it.

More than that, it’s also a ritual that helps calm my mind. While some may see makeup as frivolous—or worse, a costly, empty pastime that somehow makes you vapid—for me, it’s therapeutic. It’s a soothing, creative outlet that doesn’t drain my energy. And believe me, energy is a precious commodity when you’re dealing with chronic illness. One night out, and I can sleep until the evening of the next day, or worse, I’ll wake up in twice my normal pain. As I’m constantly bombarded with the ramifications of my illnesses, finding small things I can enjoy from the comfort of my home is essential.

While I spend time every day, twice a day, on skin care, I only actually do my makeup when someone is coming to visit or when I’m leaving the house. A lot of the time, this means I’m putting my best face forward for my weekly hospital visits, where I get stabbed with a needle to receive much appreciated saline infusions.

I try my best to schedule at least one hour to take my time doing my makeup and I always look forward to it. I find real joy sitting down in front of my mirror, eyeshadow brush in hand to sweep a luxurious shade over my lids, followed by a flick of liner to create the perfect cat eye. When I do this, my illness isn’t at the forefront of my mind. Sure, I think about covering up my dark circles, and my face often looks puffy or swollen because of my illnesses, but apart from that, beauty truly is an escape.

By this logic, I know I shouldn’t feel shame or guilt when I do decide to buy makeup. But it’s the same feeling I get when I travel or go to a concert or even just to the movies. I think deep down it bothers me because I wish I were well enough to work and actually afford these things like a person in “good health” would.

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So when I do choose to spend $200 on makeup, that ability comes down to my privilege of having family who can offer the financial and emotional support that every person with chronic illness desires. They worry about me, they care about my overall wellbeing, they make sure I get all the treatments I need, and they try to help me have a semblance of a normal life when they can. But still there’s that little voice in my head that tells me I don’t deserve nice things. Because if it weren’t for my parents’ support, I wouldn’t have them. I’d probably be thousands of dollars in medical debt, except I have zero credit and no job so I’d probably just have to forgo essential treatments and visits to my Lyme-literate doctor instead.

Without my parents’ financial aid, I’d probably be struggling to talk and living with excruciating pain. Once I start thinking of those what ifs, I have to back way up and remind myself I’m lucky. So, yes, still having savings that I can spend on small pleasures is a privilege, but I take it as it is and try very hard to just live my life.

When my package from Melt finally arrived, I could feel the excitement reverberate throughout myself. Once I got the box open, I wanted to touch all the pretty new products, but instead I opened each one with care, looked at it, then put it back. It felt like these were too nice to use, but I waited in anticipation for an outing where I would be able to show them off. As usual, someone would probably compliment my makeup, “Wow you look great, you must be doing better!” and I would give my go-to response, “No, that’s just the magic of makeup.”

May is Lyme Disease Awareness Month. You can read more about it here.

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