There's No Fault in My Scars
I know exactly how it happened.
It was a couple weeks after the birth of my daughter, and the trauma therein (including a MedFlight) had led to a pulmonary embolism.
I was put on warfarin, a blood thinner, for a year.
Tucked under my left knee, is this beautiful array of shades of blue and purple. It is veiny and threaded, like a small jellyfish in appearance. It is right where my shorts hit the back of my leg,
so it plays peek-a-boo all summer long.
It has a cousin on the inside of the same leg – this one less visible, but the skin is bumpy and it is easily nicked by my generic razors.
Neither of these imperfections are that pleasing to the eye – the proof being that there are hundreds and hundreds of dollars to be made in their professional removal, if I so choose.
And I have thought about it.
Of course I have.
I turned 43 years old yesterday.
And I like to blog.
So, it means I also tend to read blogs.
So, it means I have read a lot of the body-image blogs many of you have with such titles, as
“Moms – wear your bathing suits!”
“Modesty is in – but that doesn’t mean what you think it means”
“Men – you think you are off the hook, but you really aren’t”.
All good stuff.
I am at a place in my life that looks a bit different. It makes sense – so many of these blogs were written by clever and wise folk that are a decade or two younger than me.
I have come to a place where I am starting to appreciate the outward road map of my journey that my body has become.
Every wrinkle that appears as I smile at my husband, every freckle my daughter tries to count on my arm, every grey hair that glistens when it catches the sun I am enjoying…
All of it tells my story.
I am not Superwoman.
I could never fit into that costume (talk about unrealistic! Someone needs to blog about THAT).
But I am a warrior.
I have fought battles.
And I have done so bravely.
So now – when I notice a matching jellyfish on another woman’s leg,
I just want to give her a high-five.
She’s earned it.