Is there anyone out there who is perfect? Who doesn’t bare any scars? I can only think of one perfect person and he bore scars that no person should, and that is Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior. That being said, I know that our scars, physical and emotional shape us into who we are as human beings.
Physical Scars
Ugh! I have so many….I have 3 or 4 on my right hand alone — putting my hand through a window at 15; having a cyst removed in my early 20’s; putting my hand under a running lawn mower & breaking my ring finger & getting stiches at 28; & a bone spur from being kicked by a horse at 40. How I still have a hand, I don’t know. Then there are the other scars like just below my bottom lip where when I was about 2 years old my teeth went all the way through. So stiches were needed. Then the surgery scars for my hip (labral tear) and the ovarian cyst then ovary (aka oophorectomy) removal and lastly my back (L4/L5). Not to mention the stretch mark scars! Ghastly things!
The thing about all these physical scars is that there is a story that goes along with each and every one. You could go so far as to say that those things define me, to a certain extent anyway. But what about the scars we don’t see on the skin? The ones that lie beneath or rather inside the mind?
Emotional Scars
I have tons of these even more than the physical ones listed above. And while my life “traumas” if you will, are not the worst of the worst, they define me. I think we can all agree that most of us have “baggage” that we carry every day. I know that for me the things that happened when I was a child or young adult or even the last few years are very hard to “let go of”. Let me give you some examples….
I will never forget the day my dad called me a loser. I can hear his voice clear as if it happened yesterday, but he actually said this to me when I was about 23. After graduating college, I had trouble finding and “keeping” a job. One particular job I had, my boss was an unethical asshat. Needless to say, we didn’t get along, and after 7 months with the company we sort of “had it out”….he told me not the let the door hit me in the ass on my way out. When I told my parents they thought I should have kept my mouth shut, but if you know me, you know that’s not really me. The end result was an argument between my dad and me, like yelling in frustration at each other. And that’s when he called me a “LOSER”, because in his mind I was incapable of keeping a job. Funnily enough, after that I went to my mom, who witnessed this argument, and she said, “you two don’t listen to each other. You both were saying the same thing.” I’m not sure how we were arguing the same point, but then again we were both being emotional, and all I actually remember was what he called me.
My mother would tell me often, I had (notice the use of the past tense) no tact. Ok, maybe I still lack it to a certain degree, but I believe I have improved greatly in this area. I have had to work hard to be “kinder” in my delivery.
Another example, as a teenager, I had trouble making and holding eye contact when speaking to others (heck, I still do at times). Boy, did my uncle and brother like to ridicule me for this…a lot. Of course they found humor in the teasing and making me even more uncomfortable than I already was. Teasing is only funny if both find the humor in it, otherwise it’s bullying.
I also remember clear as day the time I was told by my mom that in order for my parents to purchase the prom dress I wanted, I had to lose 15 lbs. She wasn’t the only one to tell me that I had to lose weight over the years — I had a doctor tell me to “join a gym” and diet when I was teaching about 14 classes of Jazzercise per week. I’ve been told I’m a “big girl”. I’ve even been told I’m “husky”. By the way, that word sucks! Husky. Even guys don’t want to be called that! And it certainly is not a polite way to say FAT! But I honestly think the thing that has bothered me the most is when people say, “you’re tall so you hide it well.” Yes, I am tall. I’m 5’10” and I wear a size 11 shoe. So, yeah, I know I’m BIG, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less when folks say that. I remember all the “little” girls in high school, all the guys thought they were “cute” and dateable. Me, I was the same height or even taller than most of those guys, and they weren’t interested. It’s rejection, and we all experience it at some point in our lives, at least I think we all do. But for me and my “depression brain” it’s harder to accept and move on from. I didn’t really date in high school until I was a senior… I asked him out. I had been crushing on him since freshman year too. I didn’t even think he knew I really existed.
Anyway, I’ve often felt like the outsider looking in, wanting to be a part of the group, but that’s a post for another day. I guess what I’m trying to get at is that these few things make up who I am today….which leads me to…
Imperfections
That’s all I see when I look in the mirror. Imperfections. I see cellulite, surgery scars, dark circles under my eyes, discolored teeth, broad shoulders, wide hips. And I hear the descriptions of my character: loser, tactless, overly sensitive, loser, loser, loser. And then I think, “why am I even here?” That’s when the depression really kicks into over drive and I want to truly “disappear”.
I’ll be completely honest, in case you think I haven’t thus far, I have a terrible “self talk”. I have shitty self esteem. My imperfections have been pointed out to me by others for as long as I can remember. Friendships had conditions levied on me that I could not meet because of my character flaws. Familial relationships have been the same. I can’t be who they want me to be….BUT they aren’t who I need or want them to be either. Because they are “imperfect” too.
I’ve even been told (by a former friend) that I’m too needy. That one really hurt. I just wanted a friend to talk to. A kindred spirit, if you will. She felt going to lunch to catch up every couple of weeks or so was too much. Too needy. Then she ghosted me. Even at 40-something years old, my insecurities make me “too much”. So, I become guarded, but not enough, because it happens again and again and again. Who knows, maybe at some point, someone will identify with my insecurities and character flaws, and we can be friends.