The Diagnosis
I started undergoing medical tests, and then came the moment when the doctor told me I had a lung disease called IPF — Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis.
I didn't know what that meant. Like many people, I went home and opened "Doctor Google." I read articles, research, explanations. What I saw there frightened me greatly — I understood that this is a disease that progresses over time, and sometimes the only treatment at an advanced stage is lung transplantation.
At that moment I felt my life was over. I sat in the living room and cried. I was certain I wouldn't get to see my children grow up.
"The ability to say 'I'm afraid', 'It's hard', 'I need help' — actually gives real strength."
The Disease in the Closet
But instead of sharing — I chose to hide. I decided to put my disease in the closet.
Because I'm a makeup artist, I knew very well how to create a perfect appearance outward. I kept working, kept smiling, kept showing that everything was normal. But inside I was scared and broken.
I tried to make sure no one heard me coughing. I told everyone it was an allergy. Even when steroid side effects appeared — swelling and weight gain — I found other excuses. And meanwhile, the disease kept progressing. At some point I simply stopped going to appointments. I didn't want to know.
The Flight to Berlin
I continued this way until one day, on a flight to Berlin for a vacation. During the flight I suddenly felt like I had no air. My fingernails started turning blue, and the flight crew gave me oxygen.
From that moment a period of hospitalizations began — in and out of hospitals, until eventually I left one connected to oxygen. And then there was no way to hide anymore. A small plastic tube in my nose did what I'd tried to avoid for years — it took both me and my disease out of the closet.
Coming Out
That moment on the plane was hard, but it was also liberating. When I came out of the closet with my disease, people's reaction surprised me. Instead of rejection, I received acceptance. Friends, family, work colleagues — they all showed me love and support.
I learned that vulnerability is not weakness. The ability to say "I'm afraid", "It's hard", "I need help" — actually gives real strength. Today I take care of myself, I share my story, and I try to help others understand that this isn't something to be ashamed of or hide.
"Vulnerability is strength, and sharing our struggles makes us human."
— Tiran Chamneni
