NOW YOU SEE IT

I still remember every, single one of those metal staples being pulled out of me by pliers. That was just the surface pain. Underneath was a gut-wrenching trauma. As my surgeon breezily explained, “It’s brutal. I make a 10-inch incision across your knee and remove your knee cap. Then I saw your leg in half, sand down your thigh and shin bones, hammer metal pieces to both and re-attach them. Then, I sew you back up.” The ‘brutal’ part was the rehab afterwards.

The poet Rumi said, “The wound is the place light enters you,” and we all get our share. Only a few will leave visible scars like: the one on my back from a barbwire fence, on my thigh from a Doberman attack, or the jagged one from childbirth. The ones from being dragged by my parachute have mostly disappeared but they ALL make great stories to tell! Like the Japanese art of Kintsugi, our bodies weave their own scars binding the old with the new.

For as long as I can remember, society has tried to airbrush my imperfections. I vividly recall the day I was walking along Madison Avenue wearing heels when a guy caught up to me at a stoplight. “I’ve been following you for blocks,” he said breathlessly. “You have beautiful legs, but your face doesn’t match your body. Here, take my card!” I glanced at it. He was a plastic surgeon. I was 35. Imagine what the poor man would think if he saw me today.

Yesterday, I said to a depressed, young client, “You are a lucky girl!”

“Why?” she scowled.

“You have your whole life ahead of you. Imagine if you woke up this morning and were my age!! Also, you have great hair.”

She smiled.

“I never thought of it like that. And I do have great hair.”

Former sports commentator, Stuart Scott, once said, “In football, as in life, the hits you don’t see coming are the ones that do the most damage.” The same can be said for our wounds: the ones you can’t see are the ones that do the most damage. But they also make us just that much more human. That’s a good thing. We are living, breathing, patchwork quilts. I’m just thrilled to still be in my skin and proud of every, weird square! Hopefully you are, too. Just remember, scars fade.