It covered my knees, elbows and joints. The physical discomfort was one thing, but the emotional pain was something else.

The boys at school used to tease me about my knees. Instead of telling them I had psoriasis, I would say I had fallen over while living on a farm. Somehow, they believed me. At seven, that felt easier than explaining something I did not understand myself.

Mum spent so much on creams, ointments and treatments, hoping something would work. She never stopped trying to help me, but nothing seemed to make a lasting difference.