Stories
Kia Ora, Kia Orana, and Mālō e Lelei
My name is Carolina, and I am from Aotearoa (New Zealand).
I was born with a port-wine stain birthmark that covers the left side of my face, arm, and upper body. I also live with two rare conditions: Klippel–Trénaunay syndrome and Sturge-Weber syndrome.
Few people truly understand what it’s like to live with a visible difference unless they’ve experienced it themselves. From a young age, I faced stares, whispers, and unsolicited remarks that slowly chipped away at my self-confidence. By the age of six, I dreaded going to school. At 10, a classmate bullied me, mistaking my enlarged lip (caused by my birthmark) for me poking my tongue at him. He believed I was contagious and avoided anything I touched, even convincing others to do the same. These experiences planted deep, long-lasting insecurities about my appearance. By the age of 13, I had undergone lip and cheek reduction surgery, believing I needed to be “fixed”. I didn't choose to look this way, and I never deserved to feel like I didn’t belong. Although the bullying became less frequent as I got older, it never completely stopped.
The most difficult part has been the anxiety that comes with meeting new people. I would often find myself wondering what their first impression of me would be.
Years of bullying had distorted my ability to trust and open up to people. To protect myself, I began to build emotional walls. I compare it to how the immune system works: when something unfamiliar enters the body, it takes time to assess whether it poses a threat. Eventually, the body accepts or rejects it. Similarly, I take time to decide whether someone is safe enough to let in.
From birth until I was 19, my life revolved around laser treatments, regular eye checkups, MRIs, CT scans - you name it. For nearly two decades, I was subjected to procedures that constantly suggested I wasn’t enough as I was. It was physically painful, emotionally exhausting, and isolating. Each experience reminded me that society saw my face as something to correct -not something to embrace or celebrate. It felt especially painful during a month like May, when Vascular Birthmark Awareness Day should be a moment for recognition, visibility, and pride. Still, in the midst of all that, there were moments that reminded me of my strength and capability. In college, I was selected as one of 25 school prefects. I was also the top health student for four consecutive years. These achievements reminded me that I was more than my birthmark or diagnosis.
A turning point came when I was 17. During my final year, my Community Health teacher encouraged me to write about my birthmark for an assignment. Until then, I had buried much of it, but that conversation opened the door to healing.
At 18, I shared a part of my story for the first time in a Facebook group. I expected little, but the response was overwhelming. The kind, supportive messages helped me feel seen. A year later, I made the decision to stop all laser treatments. It was one of the hardest choices I had ever made. I realised I did not need to fix anything–I was not broken. I am whole, just as I am.
In 2022, I started @facethecrowds to share my journey and advocate for greater awareness of birthmarks and visible differences - two topics too often overlooked or ignored. But this space isn’t just about me; it’s for anyone who has ever felt invisible or devalued because of how they look. If my story resonates with even one person, then every step of this journey has been worth it.