I love them.
Really, I do.
Call me strange, call me shallow.
...but I love scars because I love a well-told story.
Scars, both physical and emotional, are teachers and enemies, loyal and painfully honest, and well...permanent. While they may not bring back the fondest memories, they are a genuine part of our being, our life and our story to be told.
Each is unique in it's own right, but it is not ironic that the scars we live with, on our mind & soul, on our skin, and on our heart, live within the most vulnerable elements of our ultimate body make-up: mind, body & spirit.
Since most come with a negative connotation, I can't blame you for choosing to exhibit your personality, character and life story through positive moments in your life. But take a moment to tell your story through your scars...you might just be surprised at how proud you will be.
...on my mind & soul
Thankfully, I haven't suffered any significant trauma that has mentally scarred me. However, I do accept the temporary and situational scars on my mind and soul that are results of everyday life. Most are not life-changing but in the moment they matter, they make me angry, they hurt, and they stick around. For instance, witnessing an African-American friend being unfairly treated and I being unfairly judged in a public place, for no reason other than ignorance. Or remembering, realizing and being reminded of the bubble of materialism and closed-minded greed I allowed myself to be a part of for nearly three years.
These scars don't interfere with my life now, but they are convenient reminders that no matter our place or purpose in life, we're all susceptible to situations of unfortunate behavior and influence that can create scars.
These scars of mine, I achingly accept and choose to learn from.
...on my skin
I have two significant physical scars. One of my forehead between my eyes from an unfortunate head-caught-in-the-trampoline-springs incident at age 2 and another large one of the back of my left thigh from an unfortunate older-brother-pushed-me-too-hard-in-the-swing-and-I-fell-out-and-a-bolt-went-through-my-leg incident at age 10 (however, he still claims I jumped out...whatever, you're still wrong Joshybear. But I'm not bitter).
I don't notice either of these anymore, nor do my parents or siblings. Neither are attractive by any means, but I can't remove them and don't care to, really. I've never known them as anything but part of my physical body and many times a conversation piece when a new friend or a stranger asks me especially about the scar of my forehead. While both stories usually end with a squirm or genuine "disgusting", I appreciate telling them because these two stories, in full, explain leaps and bounds about my life as a child; from my relationship with my siblings to spending 95% of my time outside playing on the farm.
I choose to claim that these scars represent a part of me that's more than skin deep.
...on my heart
I must first say that I am a believer in everyone getting their heart broken at least once in life. Not necessarily through the stereotypical relationship heart break, but I believe that being let down and disappointed builds character and strength vital to a life worth living.
Call me strange, call me shallow, again...but I do believe this.
With that being said, some of the deepest scars on my heart are simply from words. I have discovered the hard way that after the fact, words can be easy to dismiss or manipulated to "I didn't really mean it that way"...but no matter what, words can hurt. Oh can they.
Another scar on my heart is from the untimely death of my mom's dear friend, my dear friend's mother, and a dear lady in my life. I say untimely because if anybody had a greater life to live and so much to give, it was her. I still get angry about her death, my heart still aches and is permanently scarred because it was broken. Broken because I don't know how I'll ever understand how one of the strongest women I've ever known fell victim to a cancer she had beaten, twice already.
I can only hope these scars will prepare me from the inevitable heartbreaks life has in store.
Yep, these are my scars.
I love them.
And this is my story.
5 comments:
butterflies.
What caught me through this one was the word "shallow". There is absolutely nothing shallow about scars. They are an experience one goes through that, to me, doesn't deserve judgement. Because if something is a scar then that something has hurt you enough for you to understand its purpose of hurting you. Once it becomes a scar, you have already gone through the process of learning from it. I guess what I mean is when I hear someone say they are being shallow (and I say it all the time) I think they are admitting they deserve to be judged, and I don't think you can be judged on your scars. Did that come out clear? Again, the whole trying to make my point thing. Great post and amen.
What I mean by "shallow" is that it may seem insensitve or inconsiderate to say I would "love" someone's scars. You are right, those scars come from a place that's experienced hurt...so I didn't want it to sound like I was mocking the situation or being insenstive to those fragile feelings in implying I "loved" their scars.
Did that come out clear?
hehe
This made me "think". Thank you! I love reading your writings...you are so intelligent.
Amy
I just now figured out you respond to comments!! Sorry I have not gone back to read them. But we are so on the same page on this one. When I came back to read my comment it sounded so judgemental? Like I was trying to correct something you wrote, but that was not what I meant at all. I just meant to add on to what you had already said. All in agreement. :)
Post a Comment