I have scars everywhere, both emotional and physical, both seen and unseen, both childhood and adulthood. When I was younger I thought my scars ugly, they marked me both physically and emotionally as damaged, as a failure, as something lesser than others.
Now, I see my scars as bookmarks to different points in my life. Points where I have fallen (both physically and emotionally) and gotten back up, and usually what follows the climb up is a new height and a new adventure, an adventure I wouldn’t have discovered had I not fallen and had to climb back up. I see my scars as the story of my life, each one holds a memory and a moment when I have had to overcome, had to survive and push forward. They remind me I am strong, even when I don’t think I am. They remind me that I can, because I did.
This last year, more than ever, my past scars have played a role in dragging myself back up. A year (and a bit) after Cacia’s stillbirth and I can see how each and every scar on and in me has helped to keep me moving forward, even when I honestly didn’t want to.
My scars have built me, they have made me stronger, more resilient, enduring, a fighter. My scars may have an ugliness inherently, because of how I have had to earn them, but they are beautiful to me, they are my life, my history and my future.