I’ll Show You Mine…

Scars! We all have some no matter who we are.  Some are visible – puckered or discolored pieces of skin and some aren’t there for the naked eyes to see – silent broken hearts or post traumatic stress.  Either way, we’ve all had something that has scarred us for life.

I’ve had both kinds of scars in my life and I treasure each and every one. Yes, you read that right, I treasure them.  They are my body’s way of telling a story of who I am.  I have a circular pale shaped one on my elbow from where Jon and I were rollerblading in California and my blades were old and rugged, his were brand new.  He decided that pushing me from behind would help speed me up, but it made matters worse and when we hit a lopsided sidewalk piece, I lost my balance and took him down with me.  I ended up with a bloody elbow, he with a bloody knee.  To this day, Jon still has a scar on his knee and I have one on my arm – matching scars of young love in the California sun.

Other scars of mine have deep meaning, like the stretch marks on my belly and c-section scar from my son’s birth. My child and I were one for nine months, his healthiness, his growth created the stretching of my skin and even though it’s ugly, I don’t care.

He was a strong healthy baby and that’s what matters.  The delivery scar is another that will always remind me that life is delicate and precious and should be appreciated every single minute.  I labored for over a day and pushed with all my might to bring my child into the world, but sadly, we were both failing. My heart rate raced, his lowered and the doctor knew he had to take action fast.  Scared out of my mind, crying and shaking, they raced me down the hall for surgery and in no time Cameron was out.  We both ended up safe and healthy, something I am forever grateful for.

I have the other kind of scars too.  The ones you can’t see, that are hidden on the inside. I still ache for my grandparents. They aren’t here anymore and whether I pass my Nana’s phone number on my contact list (which I won’t delete) or see a hat similar to my Papa’s cap he always wore, I long for them every day. A permanent scar on my heart and in my memory. 

My phobia of vomiting carries scar in my mind. I can’t even touch a pepperoni pizza or see Cameron in his original Buzz Lightyear pajamas (which thank God he outgrew), as each triggers a pang of fear still left over from the moment the illnesses struck.

This whole topic came to me as Cameron fell this week chin first onto the cement pavement.  He’s scraped and bruised and most likely will have a nice scar that will tell the story of how he ran in the dimly lit back yard and missed his footing. My parents’ two dogs were there hovering over him the second it happened, making sure he was all right.  I scooped him up as he cried, beckoning for his bed, but he will be fine once the wound is healed.

Later, a friend of mine, fellow author R.T. Wolfe made a mention on Facebook – “How many of us have a scar there from a childhood accident?”  So I ask my readers to tell me about some of your scars?  You don’t have to reveal anything deep, but if you have a funny story or a good memory to go along with your scars, write them in the comments below.



  1. I love this idea. Scars are a little window back to another time.
    First scar:
    I have a scar on my hand between my thumb and pointer finger. I was around 2 or 3 years old. My Mom and I were headed to go shopping at Stew Lenard’s. I was riding in the way back of our Toyota hatchback (this was round 1977-1978 before seatbelt laws for young children were required). My Mom opened the back of the hatchback to let me climb out. The sharp part of the door that goes up sliced my hand. She rushed me inside and some sort of medical person patched me up. In my version of this story I also got a balloon and got to meet Stew Lenard himself. In my Mom’s version, someone wrapped my hand up and sent us to the hospital to get patched up. 🙂 As far as actually meeting Stew. I’m not sure if that really happened. To this day I can’t stretch my thumb and pointer finger past a 90 degree angle.

    Most recent scar (most meaningful):
    My C-section scar.

    Emotional scars. Stupid school stuff. At least I found out who my real friends were early on.

  2. My oldest known scar…now just the size of a pencil lead and fading into the wrinkles, smack in the middle of my forehead…my brother (14 years older than me) was taking me outside to play on a snowy day. He slipped on the ice, and I cracked my head on the corner of a cinder block…I don’t remember the incident as I was maybe 2 years old, but my parents, as wonderful as they are, just slapped a bandaid on it…lol hope there was no permanent damage!

  3. I have a scar on the side of the middle finger on my left hand. Whenever I look at it I’m vividly reminded of sitting in my 3rd form biology class and learning exactly why my teacher used to tell us that playing games with scalpels is a stupid idea!! It makes me smile every time, not just because I really enjoyed my schooling, but also because I like to think that I’m still playing with scalpels, at least metaphorically, some of the time. Sometimes you just have to find things out on your own by testing the boundaries of what you know is safe!
    Kate L

  4. I have an appendix scar that proved to be the scariest of all scars I ever had. Eryn was the answer to our first ‘married’ prayer. It was even more cherished because an army Dr told us we would never have a child. In my third month of pregnancy I experienced horrible belly pain. I was so sure I was losing our baby. This same bright Dr sent me home from the ER twice and told me I needed more fiber in my diet. The third time I went back to the hospital, Dr. Stupid had gone home and I was admitted. Being sent home prior had put me at great risk of the appendix rupturing, which would kill the baby and my own life at stake as well.
    Before surgery I was told I had a 25% chance of losing the baby. I came out of the operating room with a fresh scar to prove my appendix didn’t need fiber. The first thing I asked…of course….was……
    SO….now when I look at my appendix scar I remember how grateful I am that I had my baby girl; and I also look at the scar and think, ‘Man, they were stupid.’

  5. First of all, love the title of this blog, Eryn! Secondly, love that I got to see a picture of you pregnant with Cam!

    Okay, now, you’re gonna laugh, but I have a scar on the “webbing” between my thumb and pointer finger from a toilet injury. Yes, go ahead and laugh, but it was painful! I was flushing the toilet in my dorms and it was one with the silver lever that you push down that is attached to the pipes in the back. You know the kind, right? Well, my finger got pinched in there and I couldn’t get it out! I had to rip it out! And I have two criss-cross c-section scars from my pregnancies so it’s like a big X marks the spot! Now you should be able to identify my body if I’m ever dismembered. (Sorry. A little grim humor there). Thanks for writing this and getting us thinking today.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s