Skip to main content

Seven Scars

I have seven scars.

The very first one was caused by a vaccine that didn’t react well on my shoulder when I was a newborn. For many years, that scar was a source of embarrassment. People would point at it and ask what had happened. I knew it wasn’t my fault, yet it felt so visible, so difficult to hide, that I avoided sleeveless tops and dresses for a long time.

My second set of scars is more hidden. Unless you are part of my family, you probably don’t know about them. I had surgery on both of my thumbs when I was about one year old because I couldn’t fully bend them. These marks are quiet reminders of something overcome long before I could even remember it.

The third and fourth scars came from bicycles and skates. My poor mother endured a lot because of me. She would clean my wounds while insisting I stay still, doing her best not to hurt me. There were countless scraped knees and forearms. I loved speed. I loved pushing my limits. And, of course, falling was part of that story.

The fifth scar was left after an allergy test, and the sixth came from a car accident.

The seventh is from a surgery after the birth of my second child. Once she was no longer inside of me, a hernia became evident and had to be repaired. That scar carries both pain and life within it.

Each of these scars tells a story. Some were caused by me, others were not. Yet for a long time, they all made me feel a quiet sense of embarrassment, even shame. Like I was somehow imperfect or damaged.

When I walk along a nearby trail, I like to observe the trees and flowers. From afar, they seem so perfect; full of life, movement, and beauty. The greenery awakens my sense of awe. I notice new patterns, plants, insects, squirrels. Birds hidden among branches. There is so much life unfolding in a quiet, almost invisible way.

But when I get closer, I see something different.

Many of these beautiful trees are not perfect at all. Even the tallest ones carry scars. Broken branches, marks left by wind, lightning, or passing hands. And yet, they stand there. Strong, complete, and undeniably beautiful. They do not seem damaged. They do not appear diminished.

Looking at those woods has helped me make peace with my own scars.

We all live through events that may, or may not, leave visible marks. These experiences shape how we stand, how we see the world, and even how others see us.

But our scars are not signs of weakness. They are quiet, bittersweet reminders of what we have endured… and survived.

They tell the story of who we are becoming. Imperfect and wonderful, a little stronger, a little wiser, and deeply, beautifully human.

What if, instead of hiding our scars, we began to see them as proof of life, growth, and resilience?

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Love or the Lack of it

Over the years, I’ve noticed a recurring truth: every time my heart feels restless, it’s because of love—or the absence of it. Love is the ultimate reason behind almost everything we experience. Think about it: when someone walks into a room and doesn’t say hello, it’s not just a matter of bad manners. It makes you feel invisible. That sense of invisibility steals your peace because, deep down, you don’t feel loved by that person. And I mean not loved, which is different from unloved. When we feel a sense of injustice, it often stems from a lack of love toward someone. It could be as small as someone eating the last piece of cake without asking if anyone else wanted some, or as inconsiderate as not replacing the toilet paper roll. I remember once rushing to make it to a meeting on time, only to find my friends arriving 30 minutes—sometimes even an hour—late. The examples are endless, but here’s what I’ve realized: whenever our hearts feel battered, if we pause and dig deep enough, we’l...
Post a Comment
Read more

Being Intentional: The Power of Planning Ahead

Many years ago, right after moving here, I went to a dentist. Before leaving, they asked me to schedule my next routine appointment. Since I had never done that before, it felt a bit exaggerated to book something six months in advance. But then I remembered the saying: “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” So, I did. After years of scheduling routine appointments for doctors and dentists ahead of time, I’ve realized the system is brilliant. We all need those checkups, and the sooner we schedule them, the better. It’s not just about securing a convenient time—it’s about making sure we don’t forget altogether. A couple of months ago, after dinner with friends, I suggested we set up our next meal right away—two months later. With our busy schedules, I wanted to maximize the chances that everyone could make it. To my surprise, everyone loved the idea, and it worked perfectly. That experience made me think: how many other things could we plan intentionally—things that don’t have an ulterior ...
Post a Comment
Read more

From Sedentary Faith to Audacious Trust

Last week, I read something that deeply resonated with me: the idea that  sedentism —a concept we usually associate with our physical lifestyle—has also quietly settled into our spiritual lives. It’s not just about how we seek food, shelter, or comfort anymore. It’s about how we approach faith. The reflection suggested that, since the Industrial Revolution, many of us have lived with a sense of safety and stability. That comfort has seeped into our spirituality. As long as we avoid major sins—like harming others—we assume we’re on the right path, bound for Heaven. But this kind of passive faith, shaped by comfort, can become weak. It doesn’t require boldness. It doesn’t demand trust in God when things fall apart. I had never thought about faith in this way. I’ve always seen myself as someone fairly courageous. But when I paused to reflect, I realized that four years ago, three of the biggest “certainties” in my life were stripped away. Beyond the pain and sadness, that moment marke...
3 comments
Read more