Invisible Scars

Last night, I was staring at my reflection in the mirror. As I traveled my face with my fingers, I spotted my left eyelid, looking at the scar I have there since I was five. With the past of the time, I have forgotten I have it, maybe because my face has matured and has gotten bigger, and as my skin has stretched, that scar has hidden superficially, but it’s still there, saying hi to the touch. Now, I can say that I don’t mind having it, probably because It’s almost unnoticeable, but I remember those times when I had a complex about it. I hated listening to the same question over and over again “What do you have in your eye?” or “You have a hole there”, forcing me to stop looking at people in the eyes so I could avoid their attention in mine. And thinking about it, I just realized how stupid It was, that scar it wasn’t even that big, but that’s the sad thing about insecurities, they only start when someone points them out.

And then, I started to remember all the scars that I used to have. Some of them disappeared, and others have gotten smaller, but none of them have totally left me, they just have turned in invisible scars. I call them invisible scars because even if I don’t see them anymore, I know they are there, hiding, but still holding a memory in them. Maybe that’s the reason we are so ashamed of our scars, not because they could be perceived as ugly, but maybe because most of the time, they tell a sad and painful story that we don’t want to remember anymore. Also, some scars are deeper than others, and most of them are not even physical, they are further from the surface of the skin, they are in our soul, in our heart, being invisible to others but living and latent inside of us.

So, I wondered, why are we so insecure of our scars? Why are we so afraid of others to see them? Why do we cover them? Why do we hide and pretend they are not there?

An intruder crossed my mind as I wondered this, somebody that I used to know. I have this memory of the first time we met; I already knew his voice, his face, I knew his body and his hair, but it was the first time I had the opportunity to scan and memorize carefully every inch of them. Was then when I realized he had these scars in his right eyebrow and in the side of the cheekbones, and curious I asked why he had them. Proudly, he smiled and told me they were “war marks”, product of his fights. He used to go to boxing competitions at his 20’s, and he got those scars as occupational hazards, but he was proud of each one, and he saw them with affection as he remembered those times when he did what he liked the most. As he showed me every one of them, including the ones in his arms and hands, I just thought they were very cool, even, they made him look more attractive.

Remembering this, I just thought why couldn’t I be like that, why cannot I embrace my scars like he did? I discovered that big difference between him and I. While he openly showed me everything about him, I did everything to cover my flaws. I was afraid of what would he think about me, and I tried to create this perfect image of me, unreal. And not only with him, I realized I did this with everyone, with myself. Of course, I knew he had noticed it, as hard as I tried to seem perfectly fine, I knew all of the flaws would overflow of the vessel sooner or later. Then, I got the answer of my questions, and maybe the reason I am so afraid to make my “invisible scars” visible is because I’m afraid to seem broken, vulnerable.

This happened a few years ago, and as I grow older, fortunately, I’ve learned to soften my heart, and I’ve learned to be less hard to myself.  I’ve learned that no one is perfect, that everyone has flaws and insecurities that make us real, humans. And I’m still learning that if I’m capable to see the beauty in everything despite their flaws, I should be capable to see mine too.

“No scars to your beautiful, we're stars and we're beautiful”.