Scars.

Scars, we all have them; scars that permanently mark our emotional psyche and/or scars made to our physical selves. It’s fair to say, dare I even assume, we all have them. Some of us may have more visible scars that are worn with pride and others of us, we work hard to hide ours. Some of us struggle with the scars most people can’t see because they’re not physical. They can be every bit as deep and as ugly as the physical ones and maybe even more so.

I envy people who can look upon their scars and feel pride. I wish that was me and to be perfectly honest I don’t know why it’s not. I have worked hard and fought like hell to still be here. My torso looks and feels like I have been gutted like a fish -- with scars from intestinal tubes, drain tubes, surgical scars, laparoscopic scopes, etc. It is now a “roadmap” to some of what I’ve been through.

I am fortunate that my torso scars are covered easily and therefore, always. My chest port and previous port scars can also be covered, sometimes it requires creativity or double sided tape, but it holds off long awkward stares from nosey grown-up strangers.

Maybe one day I’ll be proud of them, until then I’m not beating myself up about it. To be completely transparent, it’s not because I am enlightened or somehow further along in my emotional growth journey. I have fought some of the many changes that I have had zero say in happening, kicking and screaming and while I know that solves nothing that doesn’t mean I don’t do it anyway. I’m still a work in progress with a lot of work left to do.