I am not ashamed of my scars. I refuse to be. They are a part of me, a chapter in my story etched onto my skin. While some may be subtle whispers, others are bolder declarations, catching the eyes of those around me. In earlier times, when these marks were newer, more raw, and in various stages of healing, I met curiosity with deflection. A simple question like, “What happened?” often felt loaded, intrusive. My answers were varied, sometimes laced with dark humor or outright unbelievable tales. “Attacked by a cat,” I might quip, or dismiss it with, “It’s a long story,” hoping to quickly move past the discomfort.
It struck me then, and still does, how many people seem unaware of the silent epidemic of self-harm. Is it genuine ignorance, a comfortable distance maintained by accepting a flimsy lie, or simply an unwillingness to confront an uncomfortable truth? Perhaps it’s easier to look away, to pretend not to see the unspoken stories etched on skin.
There’s a powerful truth in the lyric: “My scars remind me that the past is real.” My scars are not just skin deep; they are narratives. Each one is a landmark on a personal journey, a physical manifestation of intense emotion, a testament to inner turmoil wrestled and, ultimately, survived. Each scar is a piece of my life, indelibly marked, undeniably me.
For some, scars are unwanted reminders, relics of events they wish to bury and forget. To see them is to relive pain, to be dragged back to moments of anguish. But when I look at my scars, I don’t experience that renewed distress. I don’t stand before the mirror in self-inflicted agony, cursing myself for permanently altering my skin. My scars are not triggers that reignite past pain. They exist as pure, unadulterated fact, a biography written in my own flesh. They simply are. And in their being, I find a strange, unapologetic peace.
I wouldn’t proclaim to be proud of them in the traditional sense. There are times when my gaze falls upon these marks and a wave of anger washes over me. Anger at the past, at the depth of despair I once knew, anger that things escalated to such a point where permanent marks were left behind. Yet, interwoven with this anger, is a thread of pride. Pride in knowing I am actively fighting, and continually winning, the ongoing battle against self-injury. This is not pride in the scars themselves, in their permanence, but pride in the resilience they represent.
Fear, too, is a companion emotion. Sometimes, looking at my scars, a chilling fear creeps in – the fear of regression, the unsettling awareness of my own capacity for self-destruction. It’s a stark reminder of the darkness I’ve navigated, and the ever-present possibility, however faint, of returning to that shadowed place.
Please, I urge you, don’t be afraid of the marks you see on others, or perhaps even on yourself. It is okay to acknowledge them, to gently inquire about the story they hold. It’s okay to see what is visibly present. I, for one, don’t mind. Please, don’t avert your eyes in embarrassment or discomfort. It is through open honesty and compassionate dialogue that we can dismantle the suffocating stigma surrounding this silent struggle. Self-harm thrives in secrecy and shame. Please, don’t allow it to persist in the shadows of silence.
It is okay that this has been a part of my journey. Please, don’t burden yourself with wishing you could “take this away” from me. These scars are not a source of shame, but rather, indelible chapters in the ongoing narrative of my life, integral to my identity. This journey, with all its pain and suffering that culminated in each of these scars, has profoundly shaped every facet of who I am today. I choose not to dwell in the past, but I will unequivocally never erase or forget the path I have walked. I stand here today, fiercely proud to be alive. So, when you see my scars, please, don’t look at them with pity. Instead, recognize them as symbols of survival, and be proud that I am standing, openly and honestly, before you today. They are a testament to resilience, a badge of honor earned in the quiet battles fought within. They are a story, and this is just a part of it.
