The other day, my therapist asked me if I was okay. I replied I was. She glanced, probably unconsciously like the others do, to the wide keloid scar on my right bicep. "You're wearing a sleeveless shirt. Your scars are showing. Are you sure you're okay?"
I blinked at her, like I always do at this question. "It's my favorite shirt and I'm warm," I simply responded.
"Okay," she said uneasily.
Another blink from me, and I changed the subject.
I sometimes tire of explaining why I have no problem wearing sleeveless shirts or shorts. I don't really care if you can see the years of healed, self-inflicted wounds etched into my body at the beach. I'm just there to enjoy the sun, which is something I've never felt comfortable doing until recently. I smirked at the nurse who grimly told me that a PICC line, if I chose to consent to the procedure, would leave a permanent white mark in my arm. After the line was placed, the bunny ears sticking out of my arm as if I were some strange alien creature, I was given a sheet on how to tend to scars. I threw it away because they never tell you the most important part of how to tend to scars.
According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, a scar is "a mark left (as in the skin) by the healing of injured tissue."
Why are we as a culture disturbed by healed tissue? Why do we shun the woman on the bus with the burn scars engraved in her face? Why do we look uncomfortably away from the child with the scars from wounds and horrors we can't imagine, and ostracize him from society because he no longer has legs, and his body will never be smooth again? Why does a middle aged woman act embarrassed about the line that runs through her brow from the time she split her head rough housing with her brother when they were small children?
A scar is a story. I do not mind carrying my stories on my body. On my right pinky, there is the the time my finger got caught in a screen door when I was two, and a white mark from when I bit clean through my lip at the same age. My knees tell of refusing to wear protective gear when I was learning to ride my bike, and how I wailed when I fell and skinned them. My left big toe is stiff from a surgery scar, after I walked on a broken foot for nearly a year before I told anyone, and the bone fragments needed to be removed. There are faint scars of times I accidentally scratched myself in panic attacks that sent my body spasming without control. My right inner arm bears a scar from the PICC line that saved my life, carrying the blood I lost back to my body. My wrists and hands are sprinkled with tiny white marks of failed IV's. My colon is riddled and strictured with scars from deep inflammation and ulcers. Across my body, are many stories of deep emotional pain that made me turn to self-inflicted wounds. I am not ashamed of my scars, because my scars show remind me of how far I've come, and that's nothing to be embarrassed about.
When I look at the scars of someone who attempted suicide, I do not see someone who is trying to gain attention. My heart hurts when I see the people who protectively pull their arms deep into their sleeves, ashamed at the zigzags on their arms of all the times life was too cruel, and the only relief was a blade, a cigarette butt, a broken bottle. When my friend with many scars from surgeries that saved her life calls herself "ugly", my heart hurts with her, because she is not ugly. I can't stand when people look away uncomfortably from the man in the wheelchair, who gave up his handsome face for their freedom. I get angry when the breast cancer survivor has to endure the pain of her husband leaving her, because her breasts are gone, and scars have replaced them. And although I do not have the scars of surgery in my belly, my heart aches for the people who are embarrassed by the scars that tell the story of a life being saved.
As much as society wants you to believe that you are ugly, scar-bearer, you are not. Look at your scars. You do not need to feel ashamed or embarrassed by your scars. Why would you?
Look at your scar. Look at it right now. What is the story behind that scar? Is it a funny story? Is it tragic? Did that scar leave marks in your heart, too? Love that scar. That scar is part of your story. Without that scar, you would not be who you are today.
A scar is your story. It tells how you survived that traffic accident. How you beat cancer. How you underwent an emergency colectomy. How you broke your wrist climbing that tree on a dare years ago and needed plates. How you survived abuse and recovered.
I don't expect you will love your scars overnight. Take it slow. Use vitamin E oil and cocoa butter to massage your scars. Try looking at your scars in the mirror, and tell yourself that you love you. Start wearing clothes that reveal your scars- first around the safety of your own home, then around people you trust, and finally, somewhere public. When someone you love tells you that you are beautiful, believe them. Ignore anyone who says otherwise. When a stranger compliments you, thank them and return the compliment. If someone asks you where you got your scars, you are under no obligation to tell them the truth- it's a personal question after all. Say that you got it when you were abducted by aliens with a twinkle in your eye. Tell the truth when you are ready. Mourn your old body. Acknowledge that this is your body now, and that you can choose to be upset and angry about your body, or you can love and nourish the one body you get and live a fruitful life, even with the scars. Volunteer. Smile at children. Love fearlessly and with your whole heart. Be appreciative of others. Be proud of who you are, because even if your past is muddy, you are working on a better you, and your past contrasts with the present and proves that grace is real.
I am not afraid of my scars, nor do I think I am ugly because of them. I wear sleeveless shirts and shorts when it's warm enough, because I am proud of who I have become, of who I am now. I know I don't have to explain my scars to anyone I don't want to, nor be ashamed of the body I am in. This body I've been blessed with will gain more scars each year, and I don't mind. My scars are a testament of will and inner strength.
