THE BEAUTY OF SCARS

     I have stretch marks all across my belly from pregnancy, and scars in multiple locations from injuries and surgeries. Self-consciousness regarding these physical imperfections has always seemed appropriate, as if their very existence makes me messy somehow, or less worthy. But it occurs to me that perhaps I have been looking at it all wrong. Like a stamp in a passport that shows the path of a journey, each of my scars has a story to tell.
     It's easy to get caught up in life with thinking it's all about looking good, and sounding good, and being all put together and impressive. But the truth is that being all put together and without struggles is not particularly interesting. What's interesting, what speaks to the heart and the spirit is real life, is the deeply felt, is the stuff that pains us, the hurdles we have overcome. When someone stands before me and shares the history of his scars, every emotional nerve ending within me awakens and compassion awakens. I am inspired and touched. I am humbled. I am filled with love.
     To survive life, to have survived trauma, to speak about where we have come from makes us fully human. Sharing our stories generates hope. We suddenly understand that we are all survivors and that we are all scarred. When we have the courage to stop hiding our stretch marks, we realize that we are not alone, and that we are not supposed to be unaffected by life. Pretending to be without scars takes effort, and is ultimately a losing proposition. It keeps us isolated and covered up. Today, I prefer to take ownership of where I have come from, to share my story and to wear with acceptance and courage the stamps of my path.

Scars and stretch marks have their own kind of beauty. I fully accept the woundings of my life.