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 Daughter’s In-Laws Took the Money I Sent Her & Treated Her Like the Maid—I Made Sure They Knew It Was a Big Mistake
When I gifted my daughter a house and car for her new life, I never imagined her in-laws would claim it all—and reduce her to their unpaid maid. They crossed a line, and I made sure they’d never forget who really held the keys.
I missed my only daughter’s wedding.
A sad woman | Source: Pexels
I was recovering from surgery abroad. I begged my doctor to let me fly, but he said, “You’re lucky to be standing. Don’t push it.” My heart broke when I saw the pictures from the wedding — Ava in white, her smile so wide it made me cry.
But I couldn’t be there.
A crying woman | Source: Pexels
I wanted to give her something big. Something that showed I was still with her, even from far away. So, I bought her and her husband, Jacob, a house. Not just helped with it — bought it outright.
Same with the car. A little gray SUV. Good for groceries, work, or weekend trips.
A gray SUV | Source: Pexels
Everything was done legally. The house was in my name. So was the car. I trusted them, but life can be strange. It’s easier to gift something later than to get it back once it’s gone.
Once I was well enough, I booked a flight and packed my bags. I couldn’t wait to see her. To hug her. To see her life as a wife. I didn’t tell her I was coming. I wanted it to be a surprise.
A woman sitting on a suitcase | Source: Pexels
But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.
I let myself in with the key Ava had sent me months ago. The house was quiet. Then I heard something from the kitchen — a soft scrubbing sound.
There she was. My Ava. On her knees. Scrubbing the floor with a bucket and sponge. Her hair was tied back. Her face looked pale.
A woman scrubbing floors | Source: Freepik
In the living room, on the couch, sat Charles and Linda — her in-laws. They were eating lunch, watching TV.
Linda didn’t even look up. “Don’t forget the hallway this time,” she said, chewing loudly.
“Yeah,” Charles added. “This plate’s still dirty. Wash it again.”
I stood there frozen.
Ava saw me and gasped. “Mom? What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to surprise you,” I said softly.
A smiling woman with open arms | Source: Freepik
She got up fast and wiped her hands on her pants. “Let’s talk later, okay? Just… not now.”
Charles glanced at me. “Oh. You must be the mother.”
Linda smiled, tight-lipped. “Nice of you to drop by.”
I didn’t answer. I just watched.
Dinner that night felt like a quiet ache in my chest.
A family dinner | Source: Pexels
Ava moved through the kitchen with tired grace, stirring the pot, flipping the meat, setting the table. She did it all alone, without a word from anyone else. Charles stayed on the couch, glued to the TV, while Linda sat near the window, scrolling through her phone and humming softly to herself.
“It smells a little burnt,” Linda muttered, not even bothering to glance up.
Ava carried the plates over and softly called, “Dinner’s ready.”
A woman setting the table | Source: Pexels
Charles didn’t move. “Bring it here,” he said. “I’m in the middle of something.”
She obeyed without complaint, walking back and forth between the kitchen and the couch. No one said thank you.
Linda took one bite and shook her head. “Too dry. Did you cook this too long?”
Charles grunted. “Needs salt.”
Ava smiled faintly and nodded. “I’ll do better next time.”
A mature woman with her arms folded | Source: Pexels
I watched her carefully. Her hands moved out of habit, her eyes dull with exhaustion. When the meal ended, she quietly cleared the plates and started washing dishes. Not a soul offered to help.
I walked up beside her. “Why are you doing everything?” I asked softly.
She didn’t stop scrubbing. “They’re just staying for a while. It’s temporary.”
“How long has it been?”
A woman washing the dishes | Source: Pexels
She paused. “Since the wedding.”
“And they think Jacob bought the house?”
Ava glanced at me, then looked down. “Yes. I didn’t correct them. It just seemed easier that way.”
I took a deep breath. “Easier for who, sweetheart?”
She didn’t answer.
A sad woman looking to her side | Source: Pexels
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I lay awake, listening to the stillness of the house. My mind kept playing it over — Ava running herself ragged, while Charles and Linda lived like royalty in a home they thought was theirs.
She tiptoed around them like a guest in her own life.
A woman sleeping in her bed | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, I stood at the front window and looked out at the car in the driveway. It was spotless. Not a smudge on the paint. It looked like it hadn’t missed a single outing.
Ava walked by with a basket of laundry, her hair tied back, sleeves rolled up. “Do you ever drive it?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. They use it. I don’t really go anywhere anymore. I don’t have time.”
A woman doing laundry | Source: Pexels
That simple sentence hit me like a stone.
They had taken more than just her space. They had taken her freedom. Her voice. Her joy. I saw it now — how small she’d become in her own home, trying not to offend, trying to keep the peace.
A sad mature woman looking down | Source: Freepik
And Jacob? He was away on another work trip, unaware or unwilling to see what was happening under his own roof. Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe Ava didn’t tell him. Or maybe she thought it wasn’t worth the trouble.
I looked at my daughter — pale, quiet, too polite to ask for more — and I knew I couldn’t leave things the way they were.
Something had to change.
A tired woman holding her head | Source: Pexels
Later that afternoon, I asked everyone to come into the kitchen. Charles shuffled in, remote still in hand. Linda followed, sighing as she sat and crossed her legs.
“What is this, a meeting now?” she said with a smirk.
Ava glanced at me, worried. “Mom?”
I straightened my back. “Yes. A house meeting.”
My voice was steady. My mind was made up. I took a breath and began.
A serious woman in her living room | Source: Freepik
“I’ve been here for two days,” I said calmly. “And I’ve watched my daughter do every bit of cooking, cleaning, laundry, and driving. While the two of you relax like you’re on vacation.”
Linda let out a dry laugh. “We’re guests. We don’t follow housemaid schedules.”
I didn’t blink. “You’re not guests. You’ve been living here for months. Eating, showering, doing laundry, using the car — all without lifting a finger.”
Charles shifted in his chair. “What’s your point?”
A serious mature man | Source: Pexels
“My point,” I said, “is simple. If you live in this house, you contribute. Ava is not your maid.”
Linda rolled her eyes. “You can’t just come in here and change the rules. This is Jacob’s house. Not yours.”
I paused for a moment, then looked her dead in the eye.
“No. It’s not Jacob’s house,” I said. “It’s mine.”
They both froze.
A smiling woman touching her lips | Source: Pexels
“What are you talking about?” Charles asked, his voice rising.
“I bought this house. The deed is in my name. I also bought the car. It’s registered to me.”
Linda’s mouth opened, then closed. Her face turned a shade of red I hadn’t seen before.
“You’re joking,” she finally said.
“I’m not,” I replied. “This house was a gift for Ava — something I wanted her to enjoy when the time was right. But legally, it still belongs to me.”
A mature woman looking to her side | Source: Freepik
Linda took a step forward. “We have nowhere else to go! You can’t just kick us out!”
I looked at her, calm as ever. “That’s not Ava’s responsibility. Or mine.”
“But we’re family—”
“No,” I interrupted. “You’re extended family, not royalty. If you want to stay, you pull your weight. If not, you can pack your things and go.”
Silence fell. You could hear the hum of the refrigerator.
An angry mature woman pointing at the camera | Source: Freepik
Ava stood frozen, lips parted.
I turned to her and softened my tone. “Sweetheart, you deserve better than this. This is your home. And it’s time you lived in it like it is.”
Ava swallowed hard. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Then, barely above a whisper, she said, “Thank you.”
That was enough.
A smiling young woman | Source: Freepik
Within the week, Charles and Linda packed up and left. No big farewell. Just a slammed door and the sound of tires on gravel.
Ava collapsed into my arms that evening, her body shaking. “I didn’t know how to say no,” she cried.
“You don’t have to explain,” I said, holding her tight. “You were trying to keep the peace. But peace isn’t peace if it costs you everything.”
A woman drinking tea with her daughter | Source: Pexels
We spent the next few days reclaiming her space. We rearranged the furniture, cleaned the closets, and opened every window in the house. Sunlight poured in. Ava laughed more. She moved easier. She started humming while making coffee.
On Saturday, I tossed her the keys. “Let’s take that car for a spin.”
We drove with the windows down, wind in our hair, music playing loud. For the first time in months, I saw her smile without effort.
A happy woman driving | Source: Pexels
That night, as we sat in the quiet living room, she rested her head on my shoulder.
“I forgot what it felt like to be me,” she whispered.
I kissed the top of her head.
She’s not a maid. She’s not a servant. She’s my daughter. And no one gets to forget that.
A woman hugging her mother | Source: Pexels
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