The Day Vitiligo Knocked on my Door

I had lived in my skin for 37 years, familiar with every inch of it. 

Then one day, a small white patch appeared—just one, almost like an afterthought from my body.

I glanced at it and thought, Hmm, that’s odd, but nothing more. It stayed with me, quiet and unchanged, like an old book gathering dust on a shelf.

And then, in 2020, my skin decided to speak louder. Feet. Stomach. More patches. Enough to make me pause, enough to take myself to the doctor.

And then the words: It’s vitiligo.

Maybe I already suspected it. Maybe I didn’t. Either way, hearing it confirmed by someone in a white coat is different. 

I felt this deep, unsettling fear.

There was a shift—a mix of curiosity, worry, maybe even a bit of disbelief. What now? What does this mean for me? Will it spread? How will people react? How do I feel about it? Would this change how I was seen?

---

The Emotional Tug-of-War

Vitiligo isn’t just about the skin. It’s about identity. It’s about standing in front of the mirror and seeing something new, something I didn’t sign up for.

I went through waves of emotions - initially being in denial - Maybe it’ll stay like this. Maybe it’ll go away.

I also felt frustrated - Why now? Why me?

I was thinking about the world’s reaction too. 

The hardest part isn’t the patches themselves. It’s the unpredictability. Will it spread? Will it stop? Vitiligo moves to its own rhythm, and that uncertainty can be unsettling.

---

Finding Peace in a Shifting Skin

As a transformation coach, I’ve spent my time helping people embrace their authentic selves. But I have to admit—this has been a lifelong lesson for me, too.

Everyone who has walked this path finds their own way to make peace with it. Some cover it up. Some seek treatment. Some let it be. None of these choices are wrong—they’re just different ways of making sense of the journey.

In the last 3-4 years, some people have stared at my feet.

Some have asked questions. Some mean well, some don’t. 

And then there are those who don’t even notice—ironically, they might be the ones who see me most clearly.

Here’s what I’ve learned: 

🔹 When our self-image is disrupted, our first reaction is to resist. 

🔹 We grieve the versions of ourselves we once knew. 

🔹 But confidence isn’t about looking a certain way—it’s about how we own ourselves.

I decided to step into my visibility fully. It was uncomfortable. It was scary.

But it was also freeing. 

I accepted it fully as a part of me. It is me.

And if you’re reading this, I want to ask—where in your life are you holding back? What parts of yourself have you been hesitant to embrace?

I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Remember, you’re worthy!