Meet Tonja

As an African American woman, my skin was more than just a feature; it was a part of my identity, my heritage, my pride. Growing up, I was told my dark complexion was “too much”, too deep, too bold, too different. For years, I struggled to embrace it, to see the beauty in what society often overlooked. But just when I had grown to love my rich, melanin-filled skin, vitiligo began to take it away.

At first, it was just a small spot, barely noticeable. Then more appeared, spreading across my hands, my face, my arms, slowly erasing the skin I had fought so hard to love. I felt betrayed, as if my body had turned against me. I cried in silence, trapped between the dark skin I was once ridiculed for and the one I didn’t recognize.

Vitiligo isn’t just about skin, it’s about identity, self-worth, and mental health. The emotional toll is often overlooked, yet it can be just as devastating as the physical changes.

I felt like I was grieving a part of myself. The loss of control over my own body led to anxiety, self-doubt, and deep sadness. I withdrew from the world, avoiding mirrors and isolating myself from friends and family.

The world around me didn’t make it any easier. Strangers stared. Some whispered. Others were bold enough to ask, What happened to your face? Is it contagious? Their words reinforced my isolation. Even within the medical community, vitiligo was dismissed as a “cosmetic issue.”

The beauty industry rarely represented people like me. Society often equated flawless skin with worth. The lack of representation made me feel invisible.

But slowly, I realized, I wasn’t broken. I was changing. And instead of mourning what I had lost, I had to embrace what I was becoming.

I created Beautifully Unblemished @beautifullyunblemished, a support group for people like me.

Vitiligo took the skin I had grown to love, but in its place, it gave me something even greater, a purpose. And for that, I am grateful.