Love Is…Flaunting My Scars Like Lovely Accessories

A few months ago I suffered a cervical spine injury and had to undergo surgery to correct it. Scared out of my mind and absolutely terrified of being put to sleep and under a knife for the first time, I prepared my nerves to accept the fact that I needed to get through one of the hardest feats of my life. I was ready to be cut in a sensitive place. I was ready to deal with a long recovery. I was ready to heal. The only thing I forgot to prepare for was the scar it would leave behind.

Three days after my surgery, I excitedly removed my bandage, ready to get back to normal. What I saw staring back at me sent me into an anxiety attack. I didn’t recognize the new me and quickly realized I was now “tainted.” I used to love every inch of my neck and now I absolutely hated what I saw. Shaking and crying, I struggled to make sense of the new me and the ugly scar that now obviously defined me. I felt hopeless and depressed at the unfair and drastic change of me.

Gutted, and in between crying spells, I snapped this photo and sent it to my closest friends. I wanted them to see the new, hideous me. The sooner they could accept me, the sooner I could regroup. Of course they were supportive and poured love into me, but it wasn’t enough. They told me it would fade, but I was so consumed in self-pity that I didn’t believe them. I hated the fact that this monstrous scar now defined me.

I spent hours each day staring at my new look, searching for any semblance of recognition, and hoping that it may disappear if I stared long enough. When I realized it wouldn’t go away, I got bored and stopped staring. I stopped obsessively photographing it and decided I was wasting my time. For I was stuck in a dark valley of shallowness and a victim of my own vanity – neither of which served me. I needed an escape.

Suddenly over me and all my BS, I just simply decided to abandon the shallow ridiculousness and move on without looking back. If I had a hideous scar, so what. I was tired of it eating me alive and I needed to move to another place. So I gathered my belongings and jumped right off that pity train. As I started to mind my business and focus on other things, I didn’t even realize my scar was minding it’s own business- quietly healing and fading.

Life sure is funny. Somewhere down the line, I must have switched directions without evening knowing. One day I felt my neck for my scar, as I had done hundreds of times before, and couldn’t feel it. What was once raised and brutal skin was now smooth and blended. Once again, I panicked. I ran to a mirror and searched for the scar, desperately needing to locate it. I had trouble finding it, but it was there. I sighed in relief and then processed my thoughts. In that moment I realized I had grown attached to my scar and somewhere down the line had felt comforted by touching and seeing it. Having nurtured it for months, I realized in that moment that I had fallen in love.

And here’s the kicker- I was right all along. My scar does indeed define me. What I once saw as ghastly and grotesque, I now see as one of my most prized natural possessions. I’m absolutely in love with my scar because I know its story. I love it because I love me. It’s a beauty mark that tells the story of fear, resiliency and ultimate self-love. When I look at my scar, I remember who I am and what I’ve been through. I love having access to that daily reminder.

I look to my scar when I need gentle reminders about what makes me me. I touch my scar when I need graceful reminders that my physical imperfections make me unique. I think about my scar when I need a pep-talk about where I’m going and what I’m trying to overcome. My scar is a symbol of pain, transition and endurance. I have a beauty mark no one else can have and it’s all mine! My own purple heart and beautiful badge of honor.

I need my scars. My surgery scar. My mama pouch and stretchmarks from having 3 children. Along with all the faded cuts and blemishes I’ve accumulated over 4 decades of suffering, learning and living-in no particular order. Sometimes simultaneously. I am so emotionally connected to my scars that reflect stories of painful experiences turned beautiful journeys. If given the option to make my surgery scar vanish, I’d now definitively choose “NO.”

I know this may be small and superficial for people reading this, but for me, it’s everything. Also, this post isn’t just about the surgery scar 🙂