I looked at them again today. My scars. I’ve come a long way from being barely able to just give them a quick glance and immediately looking away. Today, standing in front of the mirror I took a long hard look at the dark oval shape on the side of my right breast. Bite marks involuntarily tattooed onto me for the rest of my life. One of four such permanent marks. Somehow the rest do not get to me as much as this one does. Maybe because this one is actually an impression of the full set of teeth. Almost as if my breast had been used to create a mould for a mouth guard or braces.
As has become my custom, before this reflection on my scars, I had tried, for the hundredth time or so, to scrub them off during my bath. The bites and the strangulation scars around my neck, it’s become a habit, trying to scrub them off every time I bath. All to no avail, obviously. But I try anyway. The doctor did recommend products that will do the job but somehow, illogically, I’ve got it in my head that the scrubbing will work.
Looking at them today was different though. In the beginning a quick glimpse brought on a flood of unpleasant memories. In a split second I would be back in that place, dark, scared and in pain. Gasping for air through a killer grip and thinking this was not how I imagined the last moments of my life would play out. In those moments I prayed more than I have ever prayed in my 33 years of existence. Begging God to spare me. If not for me, then for my children. Just one quick look would havetransported me to the night my life changed so dramatically.
But today, today something seems to have changed. Standing there, looking at my naked body, I remembered something I posted on Facebook recently. I wrote “Wear your scars with pride. They are your medals from the battles you have fought and won and a reminder that you have the power to conquer again.” The truth is when I wrote those words, I was trying to convince myself more than anybody else. I was trying to come to terms with the brutality I had been through and make peace with the scars it had left behind. I was hoping acceptance would help me sleep better, fear less and cry less. I was hoping this bold affirmation would help me find peace. Maybe they did, I don’t know. All I know is that today my scars brought on different memories. Probably because today had been one of those days I needed a little encouragement to get out of bed and just keep moving. Getting up and embracing the day on some days is just a challenge I would rather not face.
Anyway, standing in front of that mirror, it hit me, my journey towards acceptance and peace has begun. I can’t really tell you when or how it started but I know I’m on my way now. I looked at the marks on my body and thought to myself this is exactly what they are, marks. Marks on my body. I have the authority over them and not the other way round. I determine what story they will tell. After all they are only a chapter in my story. Time to stop making them the entire narration of my journey thus far. Truth is it hasn’t all been horror and chills. There has been love and laughter. Lots of it in fact.
I choose to make them a reminder of the beauty I have found in this nastiness. Of the discovery of Spiritual strength and maturity that I never thought I could achieve. Of relationships, old and new, that have kept me going and brought me to this point. Some that probably saved my life. Yes, there were dark days where living seemed harder than the alternative. I love the people in my life. Friends and family that have walked this journey with me, even when I did not realize we were travelling together. In the beginning I thought this was my battle to fight and my demons to conquer. After all this happened to me right? How wrong I was. I realise now that as my fresh wounds healed and became scars, my heart was healing too because I was never alone.
My scars today reminded me of the story of friendship. The beautiful people in my life who this is dedicated to. Some of whom might never get the chance to read this but who I love all the same. Those that felt for me when I was too numb to feel anything. The anger, the rage, the sadness. Those that didn’t say anything but whose strength and love I felt so strongly in the silence. Those that prayed with me and for me when I just didn’t know what to say to God. Friends whose chose to be there for me when really they were not supposed to be, at great risk to themselves. Friends who reminded me my life wasn’t over yet. Friends who reminded me I could laugh again, be whacky again, be ambitious again, love again, live again. Friends who refused for me to get away with covering my head and hiding from the world. They knew when to put their foot down. No room for self pity here anymore.
My scars remind me that even on those days when the dark memories come creeping in, I will heal. In fact I am healing. And I owe it all to the power of love. I owe it all to family, siblings and friends who refused to let me give up. I still get scared, really sad and anxious sometimes. I have dark days when sleep doesn’t come. But I know now that I will survive. So now when I write these words again it is because I truly believe them: “Wear your scars with pride. They are your medals from the battles you have fought and won and a reminder that you have the power to conquer again.” I will add this, Let your scars be a constant reminder of the love that surrounds you that you should never ever take for granted.
