I Love My Scar — Finally, My Outside Matches My Inside

Summary

The text is a personal reflection on the author's journey with grief and healing after the loss of their daughter, drawing parallels between emotional and physical scars as symbols of enduring love and life.

Abstract

The author discusses the metaphorical significance of scars in the context of emotional healing, particularly in the aftermath of their daughter's death. They find solace in the notion that scars represent deep love and the ability to continue living and loving despite pain and loss. While the author struggles with the idea of "healing" because they will never "get over" their daughter's death, they accept the visible scar from a recent surgery as a physical manifestation of their internal pain and transformation. The author acknowledges that emotional wounds, unlike physical ones, are invisible and recurrent, necessitating time and self-care to learn how to cope. They conclude that while they will never be the same, their scar is a testament to their journey, allowing them to look more like their true self, carrying the memory of their loss while learning to function and find happiness again.

Opinions

The author agrees with the sentiment that deep scars are a testament to profound love and the resilience to continue living fully.
They question the notion of "healing" in the context of losing a child, suggesting that such a loss is never truly "gotten over."
The author values the visibility of their physical scar as it aligns with their internal emotional state, rejecting the idea that scars are unsightly.
There is an acknowledgment that emotional pain is complex and unpredictable, requiring ongoing care and adaptation.
The concept of "recovery" is viewed with hesitation, as it implies a return to a previous state that is no longer possible after the loss of a child.
The author believes that scars serve as permanent reminders of love and loss, ensuring that the memory of what was lost is never forgotten.
They embrace their scar as a part of their identity, indicating a sense of acceptance and even love for the changes that grief has wrought in them.

I Love My Scar — Finally, My Outside Matches My Inside

Metaphors are often used in therapy as tools for understanding emotional traumas. They can be used to reframe and shift perspectives for a healthier mindset. Since my daughter died almost 18 months ago I’ve often read and heard about the scar metaphor. I’ve heard many versions of the following, but this one truly spoke to me. The author is G. Snow (I can’t be certain, this was all I could find).

My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.

The only words I have trouble with are “…and that I can heal…” Can I heal? I will continue to live for as long as fate allows me and I will continue to love because my precious family helps sustain me. But heal? To me, healing means getting over something. I will never get over losing my daughter. I will never understand or accept that I have to outlive my child.

I recently had surgery for a broken collarbone. The scar is visible and conspicuous. My surgeon had warned me about the scar before surgery; I told him I didn’t care as long as I could resume functionality quickly. I’ve found that I don’t mind my scar at all. It makes me feel more real. Finally, my outside matches my inside. My collarbone was broken. I was in great pain, constant pain. Now it is mending and the pain is subsiding but it will never be the same and the scar will always remain. The difference is that while we expect pain and suffering from a physical injury, a mental injury is much harder to tolerate, in part because the pain returns, again and again, sometimes as intensely as before. Yet while we know the course physical pain will take and how to cope with it, we often don’t give ourselves the time and care we need to learn to cope with and carry emotional pain.

After my daughter died I would look at myself in the mirror and wonder how I still looked the same. I no longer recognized the person staring back at me. It didn’t feel right. I don’t feel the same. I will never be the same. It felt like cruel mockery that I looked unchanged. Now at least this scar is visible. It is a declaration that something bad happened. The scar might fade a little but it will always be there. I hope my grief will eventually lessen and not consume me but it will always stay with me.

Just as we need time to recover from a serious injury we need a long time (perhaps a lifetime) to learn how to function again after a terrible loss. It feels wrong to use the word “recovery” when our child is no longer here, but it doesn’t mean we will never function again, it doesn’t mean we will never experience meaning and happiness again.

Sadly we will go through periods as observers, with the inability to function, while everyone else appears to be living and flourishing and we can’t participate because we are still “in recovery.” We will learn how to adjust the way we do many things. We will always have triggers, some predictable, most just random. We will bear the scars of our tragedies forever. We will never be the same. Our scars will make sure we never forget, always remember, always honor and celebrate what we had when we were whole. I love my scar: I look more like myself.