Scars
I've often caught wisps of conversations, usually between a pair or more of women, bemoaning a particular scar or blemish resulting from some injury. The scars I have from biopsies were created in manners that render them as concealable or aesthetically pleasing (if such a thing is possible) as possible. The doctors performing the surgeries explained this exact formula to me - they had gone out of their way to minimize the impact of the scars on my appearance.
I don't know precisely where I got it from but I simply don't understand the worry about scars, in either men or women (and I've known both who were mortally afraid of them).
I see a scar and I see pain. I see joy. I see exhilaration. I see trepidation. I see the thrill of victory. I see the agony of defeat (to borrow the old Olympics catch line). I see life lived; either not shied away from or accepted as part of existing.
To me, when I see a woman with scars I see a person with a story to tell. Everyone has a story, of course, and sometimes the unblemished exteriors hide some fantastic tales. But with scars and marks of escapades past I see a story that involves more than a simple movement through the motions of a series of events. I see someone who was involved viscerally with their life, perhaps even against their desires. I see someone who may have stood against incredible odds and come out victorious but not unscathed. Perhaps I see someone who stood against such odds and failed only to have a reminder permanently etched on their person; an opportunity to grow and learn.
Perhaps I see something more basic - a person unconcerned with maufactured images of beauty.
Scars are wonderous and beautiful. Be proud of them. They are mementos of your life.
I don't know precisely where I got it from but I simply don't understand the worry about scars, in either men or women (and I've known both who were mortally afraid of them).
I see a scar and I see pain. I see joy. I see exhilaration. I see trepidation. I see the thrill of victory. I see the agony of defeat (to borrow the old Olympics catch line). I see life lived; either not shied away from or accepted as part of existing.
To me, when I see a woman with scars I see a person with a story to tell. Everyone has a story, of course, and sometimes the unblemished exteriors hide some fantastic tales. But with scars and marks of escapades past I see a story that involves more than a simple movement through the motions of a series of events. I see someone who was involved viscerally with their life, perhaps even against their desires. I see someone who may have stood against incredible odds and come out victorious but not unscathed. Perhaps I see someone who stood against such odds and failed only to have a reminder permanently etched on their person; an opportunity to grow and learn.
Perhaps I see something more basic - a person unconcerned with maufactured images of beauty.
Scars are wonderous and beautiful. Be proud of them. They are mementos of your life.