Women don’t do that. In fact, we tend to hide our scars. We cover them up with clothing, makeup, and embarrassment. It becomes a source of stress that someone will notice and that we will have to apologize for it. We desperately look for ways to keep our wrinkles at bay, our skin from sagging and crinkling. We take sometimes drastic measures to keep thin, to lose weight, to cover up our widening hips. In the dark of night when nobody is watching, we may cry over the person we once were and can no longer see in the mirror. We look at our bodies and despair over what has happened to us.
Well, I’ve decided to take a page from the Men’s War Wound Playbook. I choose to look at my scars, premature aging, turkey waggle, and car accident deformities as a sign of strength that declares to the world that I lived through all of that and I’m still here to tell the tale. Somehow that makes me bold instead of weak, an over-comer instead of a victim.
Most of my scars are in areas of my body only my husband and I will ever see, but one of them is now proudly displayed on my neck where all can see. Some day the scar might fade and the lump may finally disappear completely, but for now, here it is in all its glory.
The first is a headshot of me with my laugh lines (well earned) and my turkey waggle and a hint of my parathyroid surgery war wounds. The following two show more detail of the latter.
The last one is a picture of my hand after the car accident and shows how my middle finger now likes to cozy up to my ring finger upon making a fist. I sure am unique, right? I’ll bet none of you have the same combination of war wounds.
Won’t you join me? What’s the story behind your scars?