Evidence of Battle

In Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Ron Weasley gets attacked by brains. Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse says that he will be scarred, because nothing leaves deeper scarring that thought.

Let me just let you think on that for a moment. NOTHING LEAVES DEEPER SCARRING THAN THOUGHT. (Please don’t judge this blog by the fact that I referenced the Harry Potter series. Even to those haters, you have to admit that there is depth in this idea.)

We all have scars. Some are physical, some are mental or emotional. Some are given to us, some we give ourselves, and some are foisted upon us, despite our best efforts to fend them off.

Some scars we think have vanished, until something or someone causes them to reappear. These scars, I think, are the most profound. They are the ones that have truly shaped us. They are the ones that we battle, knowingly and unknowingly, every day of our lives. And sometimes, when they reappear, it is another chance for us to heal again.

I think it’s funny…this blog was sparked by the oddest thing. As I have developed this new-found loving relationship with my body, I have been able to enjoy this summer more than I have any other in a long time. This has meant considerable time by the pool in my bathing suit, which has led to a slow, controlled tan. I noticed the other day as I was applying lotion to my legs, some old scars that I hadn’t seen since I was a kid. I found the reality of it odd–that these scars I had thought were completely healed and gone were still there, lurking under the surface, waiting to surprise me as I began to feel beautiful.

And there were the scars–not just the ones on my legs, but the ones in my heart. The ones left there by my own thoughts. The summer that I incurred those scars on my legs was the beginning of my adolescence, and the beginning of seeing myself through this distorted lens of self-loathing. It was summer camp. I was surrounded by girls who I considered to be better than me. They had more money, they were prettier, they were unafraid to wear bikinis, they flirted with and even kissed boys…they were what I thought I could not be. They were perfect, through my distorted view. I was attacked by mosquitoes that summer, and perhaps of my own doing, allowed them to leave scars behind, reminding me of that time.

I had not seen those scars in a long time, and had not felt those feelings of misfitted-ness in a while…though perhaps not as long as I would like to think.

Scars are the evidence of healing. This healing takes place, and we are left with a mark, identifying that healing. Some scars have meaning for us. There is a scar on my left hand that I incurred while washing a glass the night of my grandfather’s funeral. I remember the lip of the glass slicing into my flesh, and then crumpling to the floor, sobbing that if Saba hadn’t died, I never would have cut myself (he always did the dishes). The scar reminds me of his death. Other scars are long forgotten marks of little falls or bumps or scrapes. They don’t mean anything to us. Still other scars are unseen, but affect us every day. They are healed, but perhaps not fully. They may never heal. These are, most often, as Madame Pomfrey pointed out, likely the scars of thoughts.

As the reappearance of the scars on my legs has shown me, our own thoughts can cut us more deeply than knives. The things I thought that summer, and for much of my life after that shaped the life I would live, the choices I would make, and the battles I would fight. After fighting those battles, I foolishly assumed that I was healed. Like magic. But then, despite all my hard work, there are times when those old, deep scars resurface.

As I have lost weight and changed my patterns of thinking, I have had many, many opportunities to face those old scars again. Those old scars are why I haven’t written in a while, but I am proud to say that as I battled old, self hating demons again over the last month, I had a beautiful new perspective on those demons, and though I did battle them, it was not as difficult a battle because I am stronger than I’ve ever been, and I am seeing things through a much clearer lens. Yes…the scars are still there. They will be there forever, even when they fade from sight completely, but I am now a warrior who will fight them and not let a scar be a wound.

Scars are memories of wounds. They are evidence of battle. They are reminders of the past…but they do not define us. I wear my scars, seen and unseen, with pride. They are evidence of the battles I have fought that have led me here, and part of who I am…finally someone I am proud to be.