Listen. Protect. Honor.
Rethinking Beauty
I used to be a serial skincare addict. Honestly? I kinda still am.
Always chasing the next glow, the next miracle serum, the next this-changes-everything moment.
My shelves? Overflowing. My bathroom wasn’t just a shrine—it was a well-researched, derm-approved, facialist-endorsed temple of glow.
If I invested in a device or a mask, you better believe I did my homework. I wasn’t about to drop $$$ without checking in with my skin squad first. Having a skincare blog meant something to me—I wasn’t just playing around. I needed to know exactly what I was talking about before recommending anything.
I used it. Tested it. Obsessed over it...because if I was going to drop a small fortune on serums and tools, it had to be worth it.
But somewhere along the way—after the diagnosis, after the scars—everything changed.
Skincare stopped being about the chase. It became about tuning in.
I’ve always believed skincare was more than just a routine.
It’s a reflection—of how we treat ourselves, what we’ve endured, and what we choose to honor.
Sure, I started out like everyone else—wanting to look better, clearer, more radiant. My first lessons in beauty came from my mom. She took care of her skin with this effortless grace, like it was second nature. Watching her, I learned early on: skincare was sacred.
Even through the messiness of growing up—hormones, sports, late nights—I kept a routine. It was one thing I could control. But like most of us, I went through the motions, not realizing what it truly meant.
Then skin cancer peeled back the layers.
Layers of habit, of appearance, of everything I thought skincare was supposed to be.
Suddenly, it wasn’t just about how I looked.
It was about protection. About trust. About honoring what I’d nearly lost.
I’ll never forget sitting in that chair during my first Mohs surgery for skin cancer.
Lips numb, trying to stay calm as the doctor cut piece after piece from my bottom lip. Hours passed, and eventually, my mom, my aunt, and my dad came in, wondering what was taking so long.
I could see it the moment they walked in—the shock on their faces, the way they tried to hide it. That’s when I knew.
I asked for a mirror.
All of them said, "No—don’t do that right now."
Which only made me more afraid.
I had to see.
The doctor handed me the mirror, and I couldn’t believe what I saw.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t speak.
I just sat there—quiet, tears falling—in awe of what had just happened. Of what was gone.
The swelling. The 38 stitches. Half of my bottom lip gone.
And in that silence, something inside me shifted…quietly, but completely.
This wasn’t just about tanning beds or sunburns.
This was about survival. About truth. About the silence that had lived in me for years—and the fear that kept me from speaking.
It was about finally hearing my own voice.
When I first spoke this truth, I was laughed at.
“It’s just skin cancer—from the sun,” they said. And yes, that’s true. But I knew it was more than that. I knew how long I’d held things in—how fear and silence can live in the body. How they can make us sick in ways we don’t always see.
Natura Bissé once said, “Every skin has its own voice, its own expression, its own life.”
And when I read that, I didn’t just hear it—I felt it.
It awakened something in me I didn’t even know I’d lost.
It was beautiful, and it was true.
And from that moment, everything shifted.
It all made sense—the connection, the depth, the truth that our skin is not separate from our life, but a part of it. A mirror to everything we’ve carried.
I needed skincare that didn’t just promise results.
I needed something I could trust—something that didn’t just treat my skin, but honored it.
That’s when I found Natura Bissé.
Their products didn’t just feel luxurious—they felt safe.
I started with their body care, and honestly? That experience blew my mind.
I became an instant cult fan—I wanted more.
I dove into their skincare, and from that moment, I was hooked.
Skincare became a promise.
To protect what I’d once taken for granted.
To love the skin I fought for.
I blended what worked, micro-dosed different products, and followed what felt right.
I stopped looking for the next trend—and started trusting something I’d overlooked for too long: intuition.
That truth became my mantra:
Listen. Protect. Honor.
Because our skin remembers what we sometimes forget—
it carries our story, and it’s always speaking, if we’re willing to hear it.
My skin was speaking, and I was finally tuned in.
Now, when I stand in front of the mirror, I don’t just see skin or scars.
I see the beauty of transformation—
a story written in resilience, grace, and truth.
~ Regina <3
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