There are things in this life that we don’t have control over. Family, getting old, even gas prices. But what I’m talking about is more on the blemish side: Scars, birthmarks, and other dark spots on our skin that we never really ask for. Sometimes we are born with that dark brown tinted rocket shaped spot on your bicep, and sometimes you get burnt with a curling iron. Our bodies take a beating getting scratched by cats and cleats, and accidentally spilling hot coffee on your thigh, so we don’t need to be harder on our bodies because of it.
Birthmarks make us all unique. I’ve heard it said that a birthmark was how you died in your last life, but who really knows right? But they’re there as a reminder that you are alive and that you’ve taken a beating and you’re still around to talk about it!
Why do people stress over their scars? We should be celebrating them! That one scar on your shin was from sliding into the catcher when you scored the winning run for your team during playoffs. Those stretch marks are from where you grew, physically and as a person. That burn on your wrist is from the pan from that one time you and your friend were trying to make angel food cake. So when you look at them, reminisce on those times you had with your friends and family. Remember those times when you were too young to realize your parents were right when they’d say “Be careful, that pan is hot!” Be thankful for those scars because the surgery that gave you them, also gave you your life back. You went through an awful time, and you can live to tell the tale, so maybe you can help someone else out. And those acne scars are a way of realizing you survived those pesky breakouts of your teenage years. You pressed through whatever was struggling you.
I was born with two specific birthmarks. One on my right forearm and one on the back of my neck. The technical term for the one on my arm is a Hemangioma. It’s a cluster of extra blood vessels. If it gets cut it bleed FOREVER and if often got confused with a bruise. People would always ask me, “oh my god what happened to your arm?!” like there was something wrong with me. But I’d smile and say “Oh nothing, it’s just a birth mark!” because I was proud of it! I love it; it made me, me. Doctors and friends mom’s told me that I needed to get it removed immediately. I didn’t care about what anybody had to say about it. It’s not hurting me, it’s not hurting you, and so I’m going to keep it, if you don’t mind!
As for scars I have my fair share. Once when I was 12 I was on a mini skateboard, you know, the ones that were barely a foot long? Well, I thought it was a good idea to sit on it and ride it down my friend’s driveway… in a two piece bathing suit. I still have the scar from where my spine met with the concrete. I have a scar on my lower stomach from a curling wand. I was trying to warm myself up through my shirt, and my cousin pulled at me to tell me to get up and the wand stayed still but the shirt had other plans. It was painful, and yes, very, very stupid, but it happened, and I have a great story because of it. The scars on my body are plenty. If you pick out any one of them and I could tell you exactly where, what age, and what time of day I got it. I could probably tell you the exact conversations I was having too!
Everyone has scars, and everyone has birthmarks. What you do with them is your choice. You could get them removed, and you could use scar diminishing cream, whatever you desire! But whatever you do, don’t hate on your body for them. And just as sure as the moon succeeds the sunrise, you will live through many other scars. And at a later day sitting around a table telling stories one will come up that accompanies a scar. You’ll go through telling them about how you jumped into the lake in water that was too shallow and got a shell stuck in your back side. You’d turn around, lift the back of your shirt, show the scar, and remember a time where you gave your body a permanent memory of a good time.
