The pixie-like Cyndi Lauper, whose 1983 hit song “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” became a global anthem and encouraged women of all ages to follow its advice, has a certain allure.
Lauper epitomizes style. Her message of self-empowerment stems from her colorful hair, unique fashion, and funny, carefree personality.
But the performer is really dealing with a serious skin ailment called psoriasis, which at one point was so aggressive that “it looked like someone threw boiling water on me.” This is hidden behind the comical voice that makes her listeners feel happy.
The 69-year-old pop icon recently talked about how she has been fighting psoriasis, an incurable chronic skin ailment, since her diagnosis in 2010.
The symptoms of psoriasis might include scaly patches, extreme pain, itching, and discomfort. The skin condition affects an estimated 125 million people globally and 8 million people in the United States.
When Lauper first started experiencing symptoms, such as general pain and scalp irritations, these got worse with time.
The celebrated performer experienced both physical and mental distress as a result of the outbursts, which she initially blamed to her frequent hair dyeing.
The singer of “Time after Time” is an activist, a touring music sensation, and a busy mother.
As an advocate for human rights, motivated by her lesbian sister Ellen, Lauper dedicates her life to helping the LGBT community.
“Above the Clouds,” a song she wrote in 2005, was dedicated to Matthew Shepard, a gay student who was killed by beating in Wyoming in 2005. Additionally, she started the “True Colors” concert tour in 2007–2008, which raises money for LGBT foundations and charities in the community and beyond.
Apart from her advocacy work, Lauper has a strong background as an actor, singer, and songwriter. Over the course of her four-decade career, Lauper won multiple accolades, including the Tony Award, two Grammy Awards, an MTV Music Video Award, and an Emmy Award for her 1995 cameo in a Mad About You episode.
In 2013, she was invited as a special guest to U.S. President Barrack Obama’s second inauguration for her humanitarian endeavors. She also has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and is inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame.
Despite her illness, Lauper is a true force to be reckoned with. The True Colors singer is learning how to control her stress, which can cause a flare-up, in order to prevent her psoriasis from taking control of her life.
She composed the music and lyrics for the Broadway hit musical Kinky Boots, which won her a Tony Award for Best Original Score, while suffering from severe attacks of psoriasis at the time of her diagnosis. Lauper is the first female Tony winner in that particular category. Five further Tony Awards were won by the production, including Best New Musical.
In an effort to assist others, Lauper shares her honest story of living with an autoimmune skin disorder in an interview with the American Academy of Dermatology (AAD).
“I’ve never been very good at handling stress.” She continued, saying that she has healed and reduced stress both at home and while traveling using a holistic approach. She researched reiki, a Japanese method of relaxation and stress relief, and stated, “That helps me.”
Apart from reiki, Lauper deliberately tries to maintain her groundedness through yoga, meditation, and outdoor walks with her dog and/or husband, David Thornton, whom she wed in 1991. Born in 1997, the couple has one son.
“Taking care of oneself is not a bad thing,” Lauper declared, urging others to “make a little time for you every day.”
You can begin modestly. She went on, “How about five minutes for you?”
Resiliently, Lauper states that “it’s really hard to get up again when psoriasis gets really bad.” She occasionally had chills due to an inability to control her body temperature, which can result in hypothermia. Even when she rested, the pain persisted, and the discomfort was exacerbated by others who downplayed the severity of the issue by stating that it was merely a rash.
You don’t have to go through pain, Lauper stated. Psoriasis can be treated with topical, oral, or injectable medications to decrease its often-intense effects. Lauper claims to be “four years clear” after using Novartis’ Cosentyx, which provided her great relief.
In 2017, Lauper discussed her psoriasis management with HealthDay.
It’s strange how you start wearing gloves or other items in the hopes that your psoriasis won’t show, but it doesn’t. I didn’t wear it with a sense of excitement or admiration. Everyone hides it, don’t they? The number of people who have it but keep it a secret could surprise you. It’s a topic worth discussing because it’s one of those things that is somewhat invisible.
She discusses it on her podcast, PsO in the Know, where she interviews psoriasis sufferers, advocates, and celebrities who share their experiences with the disease.
Currently in its third season, the show may be downloaded from Stitcher, Pandora, Google Podcasts, Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and Pandora.
Not all celebrities, including Lauper, have psoriasis. Kim Kardashian, 42, was given a diagnosis at the age of 30, and she is candid about her difficulties. Kris Jenner, her mother of 67 years, experienced her first breakout in her late 20s and described it as “life-changing.” A few more well-known people with psoriasis are musician Art Garfunkel, 81, actor Jon Lovitz, 65, and Jerry Mathers, 74, also known as “The Beaver.”
We are really lucky to have role models like Cyndi Lauper who use their platform to support others in overcoming obstacles. We can’t fathom a world without her gifts and journey—what a courageous woman she is!
My Husband Refused to Buy a New Washing Machine and Told Me to Wash Everything by Hand — Because He Promised His Mom a Vacation Instead
Six months postpartum, drowning in baby laundry, and exhausted beyond words, I thought my husband would understand when our washing machine broke. But instead of helping, he shrugged and said, “Just wash everything by hand—people did it for centuries.”
I never thought I’d spend this much time doing laundry.
A tired woman in a chair | Source: Pexels
Six months ago, I gave birth to our first baby. Since then, my life had turned into a never-ending cycle of feeding, changing diapers, cleaning, cooking, and washing. So much washing. Babies go through more clothes in a day than an entire football team.
On a good day, I washed at least eight pounds of tiny onesies, burp cloths, blankets, and bibs. On a bad day? Let’s just say I stopped counting.
A woman doing laundry | Source: Pexels
So when the washing machine broke, I knew I was in trouble.
I had just pulled out a soaking pile of clothes when it sputtered, let out a sad grinding noise, and died. I pressed the buttons. Nothing. I unplugged it, plugged it back in. Nothing.
My heart sank.
When Billy got home from work, I wasted no time.
A tired puzzled woman | Source: Pexels
“The washing machine is dead,” I said as soon as he stepped through the door. “We need a new one.”
Billy barely looked up from his phone. “Huh?”
“I said the washing machine broke. We need to replace it. Soon.”
He nodded absently, kicked off his shoes, and scrolled through his screen. “Yeah. Not this month.”
A man on his phone in his living room | Source: Pexels
I blinked. “What?”
“Not this month,” he repeated. “Maybe next month when I get my salary. Three weeks.”
I felt my stomach twist. “Billy, I can’t go three weeks without a washing machine. The baby’s clothes need to be cleaned properly every day.”
A couple having a serious talk | Source: Pexels
Billy sighed like I was asking for something unreasonable. He put his phone down and stretched his arms over his head. “Look, I already promised to pay for my mom’s vacation this month. She really deserves it.”
I stared at him. “Your mom’s vacation?”
“Yeah. She’s been babysitting for us. I thought it’d be nice to do something for her.”
Babysitting?
A shocked woman | Source: Pexels
I swallowed hard. His mother came over once a month. She sat on the couch, watched TV, ate the dinner I cooked, and took a nap while the baby slept. That wasn’t babysitting. That was visiting.
Billy kept talking like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on me. “She said she needed a break, so I figured I’d cover her trip. It’s just for a few days.”
A man talking to his wife in his kitchen | Source: Pexels
I crossed my arms. “Billy, your mom doesn’t babysit. She comes over, eats, naps, and goes home.”
He frowned. “That’s not true.”
“Oh, really? When was the last time she changed a diaper?”
Billy opened his mouth, then shut it. “That’s not the point.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, I think it is.”
A couple arguing in their kitchen | Source: Pexels
He groaned, rubbing his face. “Look, can’t you just wash everything by hand for now? People used to do that for centuries. Nobody died from it.”
I stared at him, feeling my blood boil. Wash everything by hand. Like I wasn’t already drowning in work, exhausted, aching, and running on three hours of sleep a night.
An angry woman clutching her head | Source: Pexels
I took a slow, deep breath, my hands clenching into fists. I wanted to yell, to scream, to make him understand how unfair this was. But I knew Billy. Arguing wouldn’t change his mind.
I exhaled and looked at the pile of dirty clothes stacked by the door. Fine. If he wanted me to wash everything by hand, then that’s exactly what I’d do.
The first load wasn’t so bad.
A pile of clothes | Source: Pexels
I filled the bathtub with soapy water, dropped in the baby’s clothes, and started scrubbing. My arms ached, but I told myself it was temporary. Just a few weeks.
By the third load, my back was screaming. My fingers were raw. And I still had towels, bedsheets, and Billy’s work clothes waiting for me.
A tired woman sitting near a bathtub | Source: Midjourney
Every day was the same. Wake up, feed the baby, clean, cook, do laundry by hand, wring it out, hang it up. By the time I was done, my hands were swollen, my shoulders stiff, and my body exhausted.
Billy didn’t notice.
A bored man on a couch | Source: Pexels
He came home, kicked off his shoes, ate the dinner I cooked, and stretched out on the couch. I could barely hold a spoon, but he never once asked if I needed help. Never looked at my hands, red and cracked from hours of scrubbing.
One night, after I’d finished washing another pile of clothes, I collapsed onto the couch next to him. I winced as I rubbed my aching fingers.
Billy glanced at me. “What’s wrong with you?”
A tired woman on her couch | Source: Pexels
I stared at him. “What’s wrong with me?”
He shrugged. “You look tired.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Gee, I wonder why.”
He didn’t even flinch. Just turned back to the TV. That was the moment something snapped inside me.
An annoyed woman in her kitchen | Source: Pexels
Billy wasn’t going to understand—not unless he felt the inconvenience himself. If he wanted me to live like a 19th-century housewife, then fine. He could live like a caveman.
So I planned my revenge.
The next morning, I packed his lunch as usual. Except instead of the big, hearty meal he expected, I filled his lunchbox with stones. Right on top, I placed a folded note.
A lunchbox filled with rocks | Source: Midjourney
Then I kissed his cheek and sent him off to work.
And I waited.
At exactly 12:30 PM, Billy stormed through the front door, red-faced and furious.
“What the hell have you done?!” he shouted, slamming his lunchbox onto the counter.
I turned from the sink, wiping my hands on a towel. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”
A laughing woman in her kitchen | Source: Midjourney
He flipped open the lid, revealing the pile of rocks. He grabbed the note and read it out loud.
“Men used to get food for their families themselves. Go hunt your meal, make fire with stones, and fry it.”
His face twisted in rage. “Are you out of your damn mind, Shirley? I had to open this in front of my coworkers!”
I crossed my arms. “Oh, so public humiliation is bad when it happens to you?”
A shouting man wearing glasses | Source: Pexels
Billy clenched his jaw. He looked like he wanted to yell, but for once, he didn’t have a comeback.
I crossed my arms and tilted my head. “Go on, Billy. Tell me how this is different.”
His jaw tightened. “Shirley, this is—this is just childish.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, I see. So your suffering is real, but mine is just me being childish?”
An angry woman lecturing her husband | Source: Pexels
He threw his hands in the air. “You could have just talked to me!”
I stepped forward, fire burning in my chest. “Talked to you? I did, Billy. I told you I couldn’t go three weeks without a washing machine. I told you I was exhausted. And you shrugged and told me to do it by hand. Like I was some woman from the 1800s!”
A woman turning away from her husband | Source: Pexels
His nostrils flared, but I could see the tiny flicker of guilt creeping in. He knew I was right.
I pointed at his lunchbox. “You thought I’d just take it, huh? That I’d wash and scrub and break my back while you sat on that couch every night without a care in the world?”
Billy looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.
A sad man clutching his head | Source: Pexels
I shook my head. “I’m not a servant, Billy. And I’m sure as hell not your mother.”
Silence. Then, finally, he muttered, “I get it.”
“Do you?” I asked.
He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Yeah. I do.”
A tired man rubbing his temples | Source: Pexels
I watched him for a long moment, letting his words settle. Then I turned back to the sink. “Good,” I said, rinsing off my hands. “Because I meant it, Billy. If you ever put your mother’s vacation over my basic needs again, you’d better learn how to start a fire with those rocks.”
Billy sulked for the rest of the evening.
An angry man in a hoodie | Source: Pexels
He barely touched his dinner. He didn’t turn on the TV. He sat on the couch, arms crossed, staring at the wall like it had personally betrayed him. Every now and then, he sighed loudly, like I was supposed to feel bad for him.
I didn’t.
For once, he was the one uncomfortable. He was the one who had to sit with the weight of his own choices. And I was perfectly fine letting him stew in it.
A woman reading a book on a couch | Source: Pexels
The next morning, something strange happened.
Billy’s alarm went off earlier than usual. Instead of hitting snooze five times, he actually got up. He got dressed quickly and left without a word.
I didn’t ask where he was going. I just waited.
That evening, when he came home, I heard it before I saw it—the unmistakable sound of a large box being dragged through the doorway.
A large box in the doorway | Source: Midjourney
I turned around and there it was. A brand-new washing machine.
Billy didn’t say anything. He just set it up, plugging in hoses, checking the settings. No complaints. No excuses. Just quiet determination.
When he finished, he finally looked up. His face was sheepish, his voice low.
“I get it now.”
A sorry man covering his face | Source: Pexels
I watched him for a moment, then nodded. “Good.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh… should’ve listened to you sooner.”
“Yeah,” I said, crossing my arms. “You should have.”
He swallowed, nodded again, then grabbed his phone and walked away without argument or justification. Just acceptance. And honestly? That was enough.
A satisfied smiling woman | Source: Pexels
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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