Scars
Scars, whether internal or external, are a permanent reminder of a memory. They are a mark of something ugly or painful that has happened in your life. During Easter, one of my youngest cousins was asking how old I really was and Cris had answered, “just count the scars that she has and you will probably be close to her real age.” He was kidding but he made me think about the amount of scars I do have and he’s probably right that it’s close to the amount of years I have had on this earth so far. I have always been accident prone and a klutz and unfortunately I have the battle wounds to show for all my mishaps. But the more I started thinking about my scars, I started realizing that each one had a story behind it and I can remember what I was doing and where I was and how old I was when I earned them.
I have a pretty nasty scar on my right knee that I earned when I was about 5 years old and living in Brooklyn. I was running up and down my grandparents metal cellar door when I tripped on it and sliced my knee. I was trying to hide it from them because I was told time and time again not to run on it or else I would get hurt. Well, they were right but I had to go and find out the hard way. So that has been the same for almost 3o years and counting now…
I have scars on my knees and elbows from being a tomboy in the concrete jungle. I learned to ride a bike real quick when my other options were falling into parked cars, metal grates surrounding lonely trees on the sidewalk, cement, or brick stoops. I either had band-aids all over me or the remnant sticky outlines of band-aids that have fallen off. My pain tolerance was high as a child obviously.
I have a slight very faded scar of ‘BRIAN’ that I etched into my left forearm with a point of a safety pin while in school during my 8th grade year. I was bored and I had such a crush on some guy named Brian so I thought it would be a romantic thing to do for him. Well, another not so intelligent idea but so very symbolic of my pre-teen years. The sad thing is that I don’t even remember who he is now but at that time I thought he was the only boy I was ever going to love. Ahhh…pre-teen years, such a painful time for most girls. Everything was SOOO end of the world type of drama then.
But I survived my pre-teen years with a lot less physical scars but the beginnings of the internal scars. So onto my teen years…at this point of my life I had outgrown my tomboy phase and also my tomboyish body. I grew up and out and quickly. My hips still have marks from my too rapid growth. Running was different and my balance was much more off kilter because of the weight that I had gained in the breast area so gym now was just an accident zone for me. One major sprained ankle because of my total lack of adapting to my body changes and trying jump over a hurdle. Let’s also not forget that I was also of age to start wearing heels. Yep, that was definitely not a fun learning curve then. A few more bumps and sprains were added to the teen years scar card.
Unfortunately, during these years began my understandings of heartbreak and how that brought about emotional scarring. So now into my 20s….not as much with physical scars during this decade but plenty of emotional scars. Heartbreak, grief and mourning of the deaths of loved ones, disappointment, deep sadness, and yada yada, etc. The emotional scar tissue became quite thick and numbed me from the inside out.
But as time heals all wounds, it also thins and fades out scars. Scars will fade with time but they will always be with you. My 30s so far have made me look at my scars, internal and external, and see them in a different perspective. They are my own personal reminders of what I have been through to be the person that I am today. A stronger person because of them. I wear my scars with pride. Can you say the same?
