How the pandemic forced me to embrace my vitiligo…

Imagine growing up your teen –  20’s and barely ever having a pimple.

Now, imagine going on vacation for a week at thirty-three, and returning not just with a tan, but with a pale white spot in the middle of your cheek. Imagine the panic as that pin prick of a spot spreads. Imagine the concern as you watch yet another white spot spread across the bottom on your chin.  Well, this was me. 

As a teenager and into my early 20’s when most of my friends were battling acne, and putting toothpaste on developing pimples, I barely got one. My cycle would come and go, my hormones would change, and nothing. But at 33, after a visit to the Caribbean, I returned, not only sporting a tan, but a weird white spot in the middle of my cheek. Within a week, it continued to grow. The following week, there was a spot on the bottom of my chin. Talk about a WTF moment. Because I’ve never had any issues with my skin, I didn’t know where to begin, but I knew I needed to see a specialist, and fast! After three visits to three different dermatologists, I was told that I had vitiligo. The thing that Michael Jackson had?! Yes, that thing!

Vitiligo is an auto immune disease where the immune system attacks the pigment cells (melanocytes) in the skin. When this attack happens, the skin depigments, or loses its color. It affects 1% of the population. I’m a part of this 1%. I have vitiligo. 

To say my journey with my skin, was a challenge, would be putting it mildly.  From undergoing laser treatments 3x a week in the hopes to bring the color back, to having my thyroid tested several times, to find the underlying cause. The countless visits to makeup counters on the hunt to find the right foundation.  Full Coverage vs. Medium Coverage.  Cool vs. Warm.  If you’re a black woman reading this post and have ever in LIFE tried to find the proper shade, then you already know that the struggle is all the way real!  Trying to figure out how to apply foundation and with what brush, so I’m not out here looking as though I’m headed to prom on a Monday morning, was too much. 

So, with this pandemic, and being quarantined, I was thrilled to not have to worry about this part of my morning routine.  Until I realized, I would be on a million ZOOM® calls for work – with my camera ON, no less. Great! Here we go – loungewear and a full face of makeup. For the first few months, I’d get up, do my normal routine, light beat included.  What I quickly realized over time, was that, the look of my coworkers changed.  Gone were the fresh haircuts. Beard scruff was at an all time high. Hair was thrown back into ponytails and protective styles. Yet, here I was in a face full of makeup.  Over it.

What ended up happening was that I realized I didn’t need to do this. With everything going on in the world, no one cared what I looked like.  I didn’t care what I looked like.  Not really, anyhow. Between COVID-19 and the police killing people that looked like me, covering my vitiligo became the least of my concerns.

I started to put things into perspective. This is a part of me and I started to find beauty in it.  In the same way I chose to love the signature white patch in my hair (Drs. believe this was likely the onset of my vitiligo), I chose to love this spot on my chin and the too small spots above my brows.  I’ve embraced it so much so, that I’ve taken to Instagram® and posted pictures of myself – sans coverage. And when the world opened back up a bit, I’ve gone out with friends – again, coverage free.  

The pandemic has forced to me embrace such a large part of who I am.  Will I ever cover it with makeup again, perhaps.  But do I feel ashamed of what my face looks like without, definitely not!

I own my face.

It’s mine.

And I honor it.