I am my scars

I Am My Scars

I used to hate my scars. I found them embarrassing for several reasons. Mainly, because they are blemishes on my skin, because they draw attention to specific parts of my body, because they lead to questions about what happened, and because they force me to admit that I am imperfect in appearance and in action. 

Today I looked at my thigh. I saw the wrinkled skin that looks like a fat slug. I remembered all the ways I used to try to hide it. And I realized that now I embrace my scars. They are like tattoos; permanent reminders and celebrations of where I’ve been and what has made me who I am. My scars are my life story told in flesh. 

I am my scars. 

I am the cartwheels on a shard of broken class in Newfoundland. The sharp knife in the dish water. The shattering glass of the screen door. The scissors I used to cut leather. The jagged metal on the hearth when I painted my Mother’s walls. I am the small lines on my elbows and knees from playing in the woods. I am clam shell cuts and fish hook pokes. I am calluses from crocheting, knitting, whittling and woodworking, bare feet summer hikes, Birkenstocks, and flip flops. I am my finger tips on my first steel string guitar. I am sharp pebbles in red jelly-shoes. 

I am I-don’t-know-what-happened, and where-did-that-come-from. I am falling off bikes, slipping in ballet slippers, leaping before looking, tree climbing, and unprepared balancing acts. I am chickenpox but everyone else has it too so we have to go to school anyway. I am surgery and too many IVs. 

I am tears and snot and pain. I am joy and laughter til my belly hurts. I am adventures and risks. I am warning tales and funny stories. 

This body has carried me and allowed me to do, to play, to create, to try, to feel pleasure, to love. This body is marked by moments in life that shaped me. It tells the stories I’ve tried to hide, the stories of things I’ve forgotten, and the stories shared over endless cups of tea. 

This body has been tortured by me and yet it is still here. Still waiting to be loved. Still waiting to be taken care of. Still willing to let me keep trying. To keep living. 

This body is how I came to be, where I have been, who I am now, and where I am going. This body is my home. This skin is my story. These scars are me. Unapologetic, imperfect, blemished, me. 

Finding Joy in Small Moments

MINDFULLY MENDING MARCH SUGGESTION: treasure a small moment. 

Have you ever had one of those moments that was just pure joy, or exhilaration, or ecstasy, or love? And you wished your whole life could feel that way? And then 5 minutes later you've moved on to a to-do task and that moment was gone? 

We all have those moments. And one minute of laughter is often overshadowed by 30 minutes of tears. Or 5 minutes of anger. Or a couple of days of frustration. We forget those joyful moments and move on. 

In this fast-paced, get-it-all-done society that we live in, taking time to appreciate the things that bring us joy is a challenge. 

Who has time to take pleasure in listening to their favourite song when there's laundry to be done, dogs to be walked, dinner to be made ... and I don't mean listen to the song WHILE doing those things. I mean truly listen. Uninterrupted. Doing absolutely nothing except stop and listen. That's what, 3 minutes out of your day? Can we truly not find 3 minutes to do something that boosts our happy hormones? That fills our souls? That replenishes us? That creates a neuropathway we can return to over and over again? 

I've been thinking a lot about how small moments can bring us so much happiness. Will my grade 8 class remember being taught when to add and when to subtract, or will they remember the afternoon we taught them to make crepes and, much to the chagrin of my teaching partner, I let them squirt whipped cream into their mouths? They will remember HOW to add and subtract, but 30 seconds of sugary white cream is what they will remember, not the specific math lesson. 

Choosing the art for this post was challenging. Joy and pleasure are so personal. I scrolled through my several thousand drawings from the last 3 years. I looked at what other people might find joyful. 

And then I found this one. 

My CP and her son captured in a moment of joy, happiness, and love. It was a kitchen dance party caught on camera and probably lasted only a few minutes. I had to draw it. I found some other photos of the love and joy between CP and her son. And those brought ME joy. 

So how can we fit in time for joy? How do we make joy and pleasure a priority? How do we convince ourselves that joy and pleasure are just as important as laundry, carpool, grocery shopping, paying bills, taking the kids to school, going to work, and phoning Great Aunt Matilda on her birthday? 

How? 

It can be done. 

Because think back on your memories of joy ... think back to those moments in life you truly remember. Was it your grade 8 teacher's lesson on the War of 1812? Or was it when your grade 8 teacher stopped at Tim Horton's at the end of a field trip and made sure everyone in your class got a treat? Was it the daily carpool with your best friend Heather at 7:35am, or was it the night that Heather's Dad chased you around his kitchen with a chicken foot while you screamed in laughter? 

Sometimes joy means doing something for yourself. And sometimes joy means doing something for someone else that makes you feel good too. Even if only for a moment. 

The year I delivered gifts to a refugee family and I watched the kids open their presents ... their biggest smiles came from opening the winter coats. The games and toys and art supplies were awesome and they were so appreciative. But the coats ... a winter coat meant the ability to play outside. It meant walking to school and arriving warm enough to learn. It meant being like the other kids. What I saw on their faces in that coat-opening moment was pure uninhibited JOY. Those coats meant possibilities. 

If a wonderful 7 year old girl can find joy and possibilities in a coat, where can you find joy? What small things or small moments can you find joy and pleasure in? 

Be kind,

To yourself too

xo

*All images are property of Fox Tales Art

**All images are available for sale with profits going to www.sheenasplace.org 

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