As someone who has dealt with a skin condition for the majority of her life, it is fair to say that I know the struggles of embarrassment when asked, "what's that on your face?"

At the time of my diagnosis, it seemed as though my skin went from its usual Florida tan to a stark white in a matter of days. I was 80% depigmented from Vitiligo in a matter of a few short months. The horrors of questioning, name-calling, pointing, and tilted glances became a reality in my five-year-old young life. Dalmatian, half-albino, contagious. You name it; I was it.

Even at the time of my diagnosis, I was never concerned enough to spread steroid cream across every inch of my body. Light therapy wasn't my ticket, and, in the Florida heat, I certainly wasn't covering myself head-to-toe in clothing to hide the spots that now made me who I was. In fact, I was the lucky one. It seemed rare in my school to be derogatorily asked what was wrong with me. And, when I was questioned, my brother and neighbor were there to stick up for me. It was something I magically avoided. I even developed positive emotions toward my condition when a new friend told me it was as if an angel painted me. Just a few years after this newfound appreciation for my situation, I somehow partially re-pigmented. Don't get me wrong, I still have plenty of spots, and now I'm more multi-colored than just white and tan. Nevertheless, it was rare that I was bothered by or extremely self-conscious of my condition. It was hardly ever even a thought when getting dressed or putting on makeup. Now, the story has changed.

Second guessing, long-sleeves in the heat, my first purchase of concealer, and the first time I ever Googled "therapy for Vitiligo." All of these new habits in my life were attributed to the questions I had been receiving that sounded in my mind like, "Ew! What's that on your skin?" If I'm honest, this may be an exaggeration. Well, …it's a definite exaggeration. Nevertheless, my confidence has dropped to an all new low with the recent questions shot my way.

My advice for all of us, give a second thought to that question you're about to ask. Would you want someone to ask you that? Don't ask that question because…

I'm ashamed to say that I am so affected by all of this. First, I never expected to still struggle with the questioning glances and glares. Isn't all of that shit supposed to end in middle school? Well, don't I wish! Second, I'm a fucking adult. Shouldn't I have outgrown all of this?

In total honesty, the struggles of self-doubt will be an uphill battle that will likely be faced on a daily basis. For all of those moms out there, don't tell your kids this. Continue fibbing, saying it all gets better. It will give them the will to continue and the motivation to try to beat this negativity.