The Truth About Scars
What the hell is beauty anyway? It seems the world in general is quick to measure something none of us can really define. I mean let’s be real here, I adore the classic look of Jackie Kennedy, while some of my best friends think she looked stuffy and too conservative. And what about the color of your kitchen-Do you love it? Maybe I don’t love it, but I love that YOU love it. I think something is beautiful because I say it is, not because the world does. If I say the scars on my breasts, or the droopy face I am forced to live with is beautiful, then it is. I’ve always struggled with the concept of ‘beauty’ why it matters, or what it means. Maybe because I was told as I child I was not beautiful; ‘boobless’ was a common phrase sent my way. My life was ugly growing up, I was marred by deceit, anger, trauma and pain.
My body is riddled with scars, some are visible to most people, some are hidden deep within my soul. The story behind each and every one of my scars has molded me and helped me become the woman who I am today-someone I like. I for one do not want to live in a world where beauty is limited to what other people say it is? Do you want to live in a world where we try to contain beauty into a small little box? Beauty is undefinable and some may say uncontrollable, it is an experience not a ‘thing’
I chose to make my own rules, define my own beauty, dismantle the boxes, and break all the celebrity rules, I am and should always be defined by my self-worth, my integrity and the love I have for all of God’s creatures……and when I say ‘creatures’ I’m including the human race, seemingly the hardest critics of all. It wasn’t until I lost my smile that I realized I had always took my smile for granted. I want to smile so badly, I want to belly laugh with my girls, I hope they will remember me with a smile.
Lights, camera, action …..Hollywood has decided that beauty is in the glossy pages of a magazine, or a wafer thin model. Beauty has become superficial; eye color, hair texture, and the number on the scale. Beauty has become something to be weighed and measured. I may have fed into that before I was diagnosed with breast cancer and endured over 41 surgeries in 8 years. I no longer see beauty as merely something flawless or perfect. To me beauty is a grace point between what hurts and what heals, between the shadow of tragedy and the light of joy. I see beauty in my scars, emotional and physical. Doesn’t everyone have some scars? Whether freckles from sun damage, triggers- hearing, tasting or smelling a reminder of the past. Maybe you’ve had a broken heart or a broken bone. Whatever it is, or when it comes (and it will) live with no regrets, do what you can to protect yourself, but love the scar it may leave on you.
Scars, I mean my scars are beautiful, it means I’ve lived an amazing life, I’m a fighter they remind me of my inner strength and propel me to want to be a warrior and survivor.