My condition wasn’t dangerous, but it left me paralyzed with shame

As told to Faigy Peritzman

Hospitals are full of people suffering from life-threatening illnesses. Such situations are devastating. We’ve therefore become immune to conditions that, while not life-threatening, can still be life-altering. It’s because of such a mentality that I’ve broken years of silence on my own personal condition, in the hope of alleviating the pain of others who may be dealing with the same situation.

Ever since puberty, I’ve suffered from Primary Hyperhidrosis, an overdrive of the sympathetic nervous system that causes excessive sweating in one specific part of the body. In my case, it was profuse sweating in the palms of my hands.

You’re probably thinking, Sure, I sweat a lot, too. Or, My teenage son always has sweaty feet. It’s horrible. But while you use these words easily, my condition has been anything but easy.

When I say excessive sweating, I don’t mean damp, hot palms. The palms of my hands were constantly soaking wet, as if I’d just washed them well. I had a hard time opening doors or bottles covers as my hands were too slippery. Using a pen or pencil was an ordeal, and my papers would get smudged and wrinkled from the constant moisture.

The condition began when I was about 12, a time when a young girl is so self-conscious about her changing body and her looks, and battling acne, greasy hair, and dress sizes. I dealt with all that — plus my hands. I was mortified that they were always soaking wet. I dreaded any occasion that necessitated me holding hands with anyone.

As I got older, these occasions became more and more frequent. High school is full of chagigahs, dance parties, performances like choirs and dances, and all caused me horrible dread. The rare times that someone grabbed my hand, I’d be treated to a look that spoke volumes, as they surreptitiously wiped their hands dry on their skirt. I grew so ashamed of myself and was consumed by the need for no one to discover this about me. I’d take to wearing my sleeves over my hands and avoiding social events that I knew would present opportunities for hand-holding.

But that just served to isolate me further. And even I didn’t want to pass on opportunities like sleepaway camp and other fun-filled activities that were worth it, even if it meant I had to be super creative to keep my secret.

As I got older, weddings became another minefield. My older friends and relatives were getting married. How could I not go to the weddings? But how could I go without dancing? The fashion trend of three-quarter sleeve formal dresses was interfering with my method of concealment.

While in seminary, I realized I had to somehow solve my problem. I knew I wanted to start dating when I returned home, but thoughts of my own wedding filled me with horror. As a kallah, my condition would be so humiliating! How could I go into this stage of life while I was feeling so low?