By the time you read this, I will have gone on a cheese bender 30 days in the making and I am not sorry.

This tale begins a long, long time ago. I have been in a seven-year-long argument with my mom about my skin. I’ve tried going to a dermatologist, I’ve tried several foofy face regimens, and much to her chagrin, I still look like I wash my face with the leftover bacon grease from breakfast.

(Note here that she is the one bothered by this, not me. I’ve more or less accepted that my face looks like crap. It adds to my youthful charm. Print journalists don’t need to look cute. I have bigger fish to fry. Take your pick of justifications.)

Fast-forward to March 28, when after nearly a year of fighting with my mom about going to a naturopathic doctor to get my face fixed, I gave in. I went in for an hour and a half chat about my personal and familial health history, and it was determined that my situation may be stemming from minor liver issues. Something along the lines of my face being the manifestation of my body not being able to flush out the bad stuff.

This diagnosis wasn’t completely out of the blue because my dad’s side of the family has a lot of liver issues. I got some handy dandy pills to take for a few months, life is good. And then the new doc suggests a fun little “experiment”: no dairy for a month.

The prevailing logic is that casein, the protein in milk, can do bad skin things too. Not lactose, which is the sugar and is readily avoidable through Lactaid milk/pills. Casein is also found in milk derivatives that can sneak into other foods: sodium caseinate, whey, all off limits. No dairy at all.

Saying I live on dairy is of course an exaggeration, but I thoroughly enjoy milk, cheese, yogurt, ice cream, pretty much everything I was now being asked not to eat. Despite the insistence of my health-nuttish roller derby teammates, dairy substitutes were also off the table, primarily because they freak me out. But in the interest of appeasing the powers that be, I agreed to try a month completely dairy-free.

Instead of doing the scientific thing and just starting with the liver pills and then trying the no dairy thing once I have a baseline, I got myself a cherry-dipped vanilla cone from DQ before practice that night, internally cried a little, and vowed to get this done and over with.

Some things weren’t that hard. My family was supportive and either made dinners that are easily dairy free or tweaked recipes so I could eat them. I drank water instead of milk for dinner. I ate eggs cooked with bacon grease instead of cereal for breakfast (oh, darn). I got out of eating sandwiches for lunch for a month. And it forced me to pack real food for snacks instead of junk food.

Other things were challenging, mostly that I had to assume that all baked goods were guilty until proven innocent (or kosher, as I learned one week from the end). I brought donuts to my mom’s office on Day 1 and then had to stare at the leftovers for the next week. I also couldn’t eat dessert at my grandparents’ 50th anniversary dinner because they were all chocolate- or cheese-based, so I had to resort to make “dessert” out of bread and the rest of the blueberry balsamic glaze from my duck. Fruit and Oreos can take you only so far.

Had I gone the full month, 29th to 29th, I would have had to forgo dairy my entire trip to New York, so I decided to settle for 30 days so I wouldn’t inconvenience my boyfriend by not being able to eat out anywhere. The 28th was also Mac and Cheese Night at the Rumble Ponies, and I was not going to miss that.

My face was starting to look slightly better before it broke out for seemingly no reason three weeks in, and while I survived the month, I’m not sure I’d go full cold-turkey again unless my face explodes once I return to my regularly scheduled dietary programming. I’ll take pizza face if it means I can have pizza.

Amanda Hutchinson is a 2015 graduate of Ithaca College, a resident of Ledyard, and the assistant community editor for The Times. Read more of her work at amandalhutchinson.wordpress.com.