A few weeks ago, I posed for a photo session with my brother. The plan was to just capture pictures as I was getting ready to attend an event – we had a few shots of me doing my hair & make-up, spritzing on my perfume, screaming at the kids to keep it down… the idea was to keep to the theme on capturing expressions of regular activity.
A few days later as I saw the pictures, many of which I posted, I came across two particularly special ones that I couldn’t bring myself to post on social media – at least not then. I looked at them often and every time there was a different emotion and feeling. There were also those other feelings of anger when memories around the cause of the scars surfaced.
These pictures started off with me fastening a delicate anklet and then went on to show the suture marks on my ankle, the spot on my shin when the fracture had compounded and pierced the skin, the incision on my knee, and the one where my toe nail was healing… scars from trauma, some accidents others intentional…. scars…
Over the weeks, I kept thinking about the scars that I had accumulated over my lifetime. There were scars from the scald on my thigh, a burn on my arm, 4 incision scars on my belly (3 C-sections and 1 open appendectomy), stretch marks, bruises, jellyfish bite, chicken pox memoirs, pinch marks from childhood, suture points, fracture wounds… and then the darker remnants of a body that resisted and defended itself from violence.
Then there are those scars that have gone beyond skin, bones and tissue to sear into the depths of my being – those scars that have made an impression on my mind and soul. Those are the ones that we don’t always see – those are the very ones that I myself don’t always see or even pay attention to.
They are the scars that heal slowly – I’d like to believe they’re healing surely, too.
They are the scars that form the little stitches in the hemline and embroidery on the fabric of my self. The beads and sequins that form the shimmer on the ‘who I am‘ design and ‘who I have become‘ pattern of me.
I’d love to say that the scars have faded and so has the pain. Well, it has for many of them. But some don’t vanish that easily, you see. They remain where they are and show up in photo shoots that develop into pictures that highlight their intricate beauty that gets a ‘wow!‘ even from me.
I love my scars! Every single one of them holds a story. Some stories of grit, determination and unfathomable awe. Other stories of joyful births, of motherhood and of unconditional love. Whichever way I look at them, there’s nothing to hide! These marks tell a story of a woman who has lived a life for forty whole years and has a body to show for all those years – with marks of failure and over-stretching, marks of endurance, suffering, pain, injury, grit, resilience, love and sorrow.
They’re all there and I own these scars. They’re a map reminding me that I may have fallen down eight times, but I’ll get up nine. They’re a reminder that for all those gorgeous dresses that I’ve worn over the years, these scars… I wear them like my own designer label – that stunning dress, my best attire… like a dress made of hellfire.
Luvena's World 