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Raelle Kennedy is a patient advocate in the atopic dermatitis space. She uses her personal story and media background to spread awareness about managing inflammatory conditions.
Atopic dermatitis—the most common type of eczema—can look very different on darker skin tones. As someone living with the condition, I can clearly see how my Black skin flares differently than someone with lighter skin.
But why is it often so hard to explain the severity of those flares to others, even dermatologists? Have you ever noticed that your symptoms look different on your skin, or wondered why that is?
Before I became deeply in tune with and educated about my skin, I used to wonder why eczema was so often described as bright red. That was never my experience, even though I’d had the condition since I was a baby.
Growing up, I didn’t know many people with eczema as severe as mine, but I did know that it was especially common in my community. In fact, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) reports that non-Hispanic Black children are 14.2% more likely to have eczema than non-Hispanic White children.
Even with that awareness from a young age, I rarely—if ever—saw images or ads that looked like my eczema flares, especially not in medical pamphlets. Dermatologists could explain what my symptoms felt like, but they’d try to match it to visuals that looked nothing like what I was experiencing.
I think that disconnect played a role in why I distanced myself so much from my eczema. I felt alone in my experience. While red, inflamed skin was often seen as the norm, my flares—ranging from deep brown or purplish dry patches to clusters of tiny, itchy bumps—looked more like a disease to be feared and ashamed of rather than understood and treated.
On top of that, because my skin didn’t match the typical “severe” cases shown in medical school, I often found myself overexplaining or justifying my pain. Eventually, I learned to bring photo evidence of my worst flare-ups to doctor visits just to be taken seriously and receive the care I needed.
I had to advocate for myself so that a provider’s lack of familiarity with eczema on Black skin didn’t delay my treatment. Provider ignorance is a common reason for delayed diagnosis in the Black community; many doctors just aren’t taught about Black skin pigment or skin barriers. Plus, Black people are often underrepresented in the clinical trials that would help demonstrate these differences.
In my experience, connecting with other Black patients made all the difference in navigating my eczema. Through word of mouth and online communities, I discovered resources that played a key role in my treatment, like patch tests to track skin reactions and red light therapy to reduce inflammation. I had been stuck relying on topical quick fixes, which only led to topical steroid withdrawal. Without hearing from other patients, I don’t think I would’ve made it through my most severe eczema cycles.
This is what motivated me to start a skin blog, Woke Within Skin, aimed at helping Black people with eczema and expressing their voices. It filled an obvious void that I’d personally experienced. The community I grew up in was both undereducated about atopic dermatitis and under-resourced to treat it.
It’s been seven years since I started that blog and became an active leader within the eczema community. I’ve seen many positive shifts related to equity and inclusion along the way, both in clinical research and in advertisements. In particular, I’d like to recognize the National Eczema Association, Skin Of Color Society, and American Academy of Dermatology for leading this directional shift.
Because of all of our combined education efforts, there is hope for a more equitable future for the next generation living with eczema.
