I found my mother's citizenship certificate in a sheaf of estate-related papers. I don't have any recollection of the scar; the memory of her physical form becomes more fuzzy in my mind the more time passes. I wondered what the story was behind that "visible distinguishing mark". My right temple mirrors hers with a different story behind it. A faint pinkish line by my right eyebrow is a memory of the mole removed to make sure nothing malignant lurked within. The lesion was benign but the scar remains as a souvenir. I remember my friend removing my stitches with a pair of nail clippers.
I have been fascinated by scars for as long as I can remember. The majority of people might find them ugly and aberrant but I've always thought they were interesting. They all tell a story, whether it's one we want to remember or not.
There's a myriad of types of scars - just as there are wounds. We collect physical and emotional ones and both shape the person we have become on the outside and the inside. And sometimes we don't heal very well and effects lingers long after the injury is sustained.
Some scars are barely perceptible. You wouldn't know it was there unless you were looking carefully, and even then, maybe you wouldn't see it. Some people are "good healers"; the ones who get stitches and weeks after removal of the nylon sutures, there's a ghost of a tracing of the prior wound. Or sometimes we bounce back easier from being hurt - not all losses are created equal, and there are some disappointments that are easier to recover from. It fascinates me how some people walk away from a marriage relatively unscathed yet others are debilitated by the end of a friendship.
On the other hand, we have the "poor healers" including the diabetics, the smokers, or those with just plain bad luck. These take longer to heal, and the longer the healing process is, there's more of a risk of complications. Just like the same cut will heal differently between two people, recovery when facing the grief of emotional wounds isn't always the same. Some of us are slower to build up the cross-fibres to bind together the edges of gaping psychological wounds. If you've been hurt before, it's not always easy to bind together the same way. Sometimes it seems that there's only so much damage the epidermis or the psyche can take before it refuses to repair itself.
Our bodies and our hearts aren't always logical when it comes to healing. Sometimes when we are cut, our healing efforts build up too much scar tissue and a keloid forms. Raised, firm and often tough, these fibrous growths often exceed the area of initial injury. It's not rational, nor is it necessary, but we see the equivalent in human coping mechanisms. We build up high, impenetrable walls to prevent recurrent damage. A friend with an estranged father unable to trust male romantic partners in an effort to protect herself; a student who stops applying for graduate programs after a rejection; the hesitation to try in the shadow of past failures. Keloids are stubborn and difficult to manage, but sometimes you can inject steroids to soften and recede them. A painful and long-term procedure, not unlike rewiring our brains that are overly defensive after a blow to our feelings.
Contrary to the overgrowth of keloids, indented scars leave carved out areas of tissue. To the chagrin of most patients, topical treatments don't do much to change the recessed areas. The opposite side of the spectrum yields people desperate to fill in the gaps. The girl with 'daddy issues' who seeks other men to fill the void left by her father's abandonment; the overinflated ego and arrogance concealing the brittle, ravaged self esteem beneath; spending on material goods to quell the feelings of inadequacy. These coping mechanisms are rarely effective as to truly heal we must learn to accept and live with the voids left behind. But it's difficult, and I am far from able to advise people on how to cope.
Scars don't always heal the way we want them to. A surgical wound can dehisce, and everything that has been held back spills out in the equivalent of an emotional breakdown. Infections occur, interrupting the normal process of us "picking ourselves up and moving on". Pain can continue long after the physical wound has repaired itself. The initial damage is done but the effects can echo forever.
Of course, with healing, there's things we can try to do to optimize recovery. Plastic surgeons will advise patients to moisturize scars with vitamin E and protect them from sun exposure, just as a therapist will advise their clients to treat themselves kindly and advocate the importance of self-care. Contracture, the tightening and stiffening of scar tissue that can impair movement, is a risk that can be mitigated by massage and range of motion exercises. It is a risk inherent to emotional damage as well, as the trauma endured can affect future relationships and behaviours if ignored. It can be uncomfortable to massage physical damage just as it is to unearth dysfunctional thought patterns and beliefs, but the end result is a similar investment in one's future status. Nor can we pick at our scabs and expect them to heal smoothly and quickly.
The diversity of scar tissue never fails to surprise me. Sometimes it will be a tough barrier nearly impossible to pass, like the adhesions crisscrossing the viscera of of the patient with multiple abdominal surgeries. Other times it'll be a fault line easier to damage or rupture like the incision of a hernia patient. Scar tissue can be hypersensitive or numb. The human body's healing response can be as diverse physically as it is psychologically.
The difference between the two is that it's generally more socially acceptable to discuss physical scars than emotional ones. In that vein (pun not intended), the scars of self harm, which are arguably more indicative of psychological trauma than physical, are more taboo than the mark left behind by the errant slip of a kitchen knife. We are conditioned to conceal our emotional scars in a show of bravery and strength, but I think that is weakness to avoid vulnerability. Spilling our guts emotionally is more courageous than recanting the spilling of blood.
I asked about the scar beneath his chin. He laughed as he recanted slipping at the edge of a pool as a toddler, and how his mother subsequently fainted as his blood formed a sanguine blossom in the water. It was so easy for him to tell the story of that obvious mark, but he was unable to tell me about the hidden scars that made him decide that silence was preferable to explanation. I suppose he had been conditioned to conceal, which is what led him to run a blade down my own scars of desertion to reopen and deepen them. It is a shame that we end up scarring others by not confronting our own history of wounds. Often it is the most scarred and 'damaged' among us that can understand the flaws in others.
I think scars are beautiful. Rather than cover them up with makeup or false bravado, we would benefit from drawing back our cloaks and displaying them to draw closer to one another. Every one of us is a compilation of trauma and healing and coping and surviving. I yearn to see the scars, to hear the tales, to help heal and recover and connect.
Whether it's the mottled evidence of a scrape from a biking accident, the precision of the removal of a traitorous appendix, or the silvery stripes of pubertal growth, every part of us, pristine or marred by the hurts of life, has a story.
Just like the "scar on left temple".
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