Painting Patches

Coping, acknowledging, and refocusing are key steps when addressing vulnerabilities. My own struggle has been with vitiligo, an autoimmune disease that destroys the melanocytes in the skin, leaving it without pigment. In 2008, shortly after my diagnosis, I visited a skin matching clinic. I watched as a technician smeared various shades of brown foundation over my white patches. I left the store with five foundation products that would become familiar to me during my teenage years. Vitiligo was never easy to hide. Although a non-dangerous condition in nature, having white patches on dark skin often sparked the curiosity of strangers. To avoid answering difficult questions and my voids of silence that typically followed, I covered my patches. Since vitiligo is a condition that can’t be controlled, the patches that began on my legs appeared on my feet, wrists, arms, and mid-body. Through the transition, the relationship I had developed with my makeup only deepened. My foundation was a portable, seclusive shield that I could use to avoid awkward gazing, unwanted questions, and every feeling I had in between. It was my form of coping. University sparked my transition from coping to acknowledging when I decided not to paint my patches in residence. Although at first this was nerve-wracking, I was pleased not only to be greeted with positive reactions, but admiration. Suddenly I found myself in a confusing relationship with the products that had once brought me comfort. I began to feel guilty about hiding something that was a core part of who I was, and who I’d become. I started viewing my foundation as a double-edged sword—something that protected me, yet prevented me from seeing any hopes of a silver lining. Thereafter, I began the process of refocusing. I challenged myself to divert my energy away from my condition. I began walking the halls of residence with ease, and later in my first year, I stopped covering my patches altogether. I started appreciating the lessons of openness, compassion, and non-judgement that vitiligo brought me.

I dealt with the newfound guilt that I had developed over my foundation by acknowledging that vulnerabilities and our coping mechanisms for them are complex, multi-faceted, and forever evolving. Although I previously found comfort in my makeup, I now have friends, colleagues, books, and new hobbies to help me acknowledge an inescapable part of myself without letting it define me. My foundation still has a place in my belongings. I like to remind myself of a lesson learned when I occasionally go to reach for it: our vulnerabilities and how we choose to deal with them can change from day to day. We may have a love/hate relationship with our coping mechanisms. We may be talkative about our vulnerabilities one day and quiet about them the next. More importantly, we’re allowed to occasionally forget parts of who we are, suddenly embrace parts of who we are, or some days wake up and cover up parts of who we are, without ever dis-acknowledging who we are.

by Tanisha Amarakoon