Scars Tell a Story

Some scars are visible; others are not. They all tell a story, and we get to choose how we tell it.

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In 1976, I was competing to go to the AAA regionals in track and field.  It was the finals of the qualifying match in the 100-yard hurdles and the top three competitors advanced.   I was the first runner out of the blocks and quickly pulled ahead of the field.  The competitor to my left closed the gap and we were neck and neck going into the last two hurdles.

As we leaned into the last hurdle, my trailing leg caught the top of the hurdle causing me to lose balance and fall to the ground, driving my shoulder into the track.  I managed to stay in my lane, roll forward, get to my feet, and sprint for the finish.  Sadly, this mishap caused me to finish fourth, missing the cut.

My consolation prize was a shoulder full of rubber, goo, and blood.  The doctor had to cut, scrape, and peel pieces of the track from my shoulder, leaving a nasty, bloody mess and a scar that I carry to this day.

I’m often asked when people see that scar, “How did that happen?”  As I retell the story, I get to relive the moment and the frustration of training so hard and coming up short.

Scars tell a story. 

I have another scar, five in fact, on my abdomen.  They are a reminder of a surgery I went through that saved my life.  I found myself in the emergency room suffering from a kidney stone.  After passing a 5mm stone in my left kidney, the doctor informed me I had a 10mm stone in my right kidney that would require lithotripsy.

I scheduled an appointment with the urologist and during my exam, he noted that my prostate didn’t appear normal.  After taking some biopsies, I received a call the next day to inform me I had prostate cancer.  Two weeks later, I’m lying on a surgical bed, with a robot floating over my abdomen, having my prostate removed.

A kidney stone saved my life, and 11 years later, I’m alive and cancer-free.

Scars tell a story.

As a 10-year-old child, my father’s clothes were ignited as he tried to stamp out a grass fire. He experienced second and third-degree burns over a third of his body, spending nearly a year in the hospital recovering.  He endured painful skin grafts and there were some questions as to whether he would fully recover or not.

Today, at the ripe young age of 88, his body still bears these scars.

Scars tell a story.

My mother lost her mom to cancer at the age of 10.  As the oldest child of a coal-miner father, my mom raised five brothers and two sisters while her father worked tirelessly to provide for his family. The event, for my mom, was so traumatic that she cannot remember the early years of her childhood.

Her scars aren’t visible to the naked eye, but they too tell a story.

Some scars are visible. 

Other scars are not.

But they all tell a story…and we get to choose how we tell it.

A scar is a reminder of something that happened to us. Perhaps it was a traumatic physical injury or a traumatic event that impacted you mentally or emotionally.  We went through an event that changed us in some way, leaving us scarred or marked in some way.

Truth be told, we probably all have our own scars.  Some physical, some mental, some emotional, but we likely all have them.  It’s a reminder that something happened, often outside our control, and we were impacted as a result.

This is life.

The human body is an incredible machine. When it experiences an injury, the body immediately goes into repair mode.  Blood clots, skin knits itself back together, muscles and organs regenerate, and damaged cells are replaced with new cells.  It is an amazing restorative process that renews us.

Sometimes in this process, fibrous, connective tissue forms a scar that serves as a lasting reminder of what happened.

Scars tell a story.

As I look at my scars, I am reminded of what caused them. I am also reminded of the fact that I survived them.  Some of my scars are visible. Others are not. Each scar tells its own story.  How I use these stories says a lot about me as a person.

How we use our scars matters.

Scars are a reminder of what we’ve been through. They remind us of what we have survived, overcome, and conquered.  Our scars tell stories, rightly used, that can encourage, inspire, and challenge others to look beyond the struggle they are going through at the moment and see they can come out better on the other side.

When I see the scars on my abdomen, I am reminded that I am a cancer survivor.  For those who are battling cancer, my scars can give them hope that they too can beat this dread disease and like me, come out a conquerer on the other side of the treatment they are going through.  

We all go through struggles, challenges, and hard times in life. We experience obstacles and setbacks. The scars we carry with us can tell a story of hope, inspiration, restoration, and renovation that can be a source of great encouragement to others.

But it is up to each of us to frame the story so it conveys the right message.

Remember, your scars are a reminder of what happened to you.

It is in the past. It is over. It is something you came through and survived.

There is a story of encouragement, inspiration, hope, restoration, or renewal that someone needs to hear. They are still in the midst of trauma and need to hear, “This too shall pass.”  When we tell our story of healing, recovery, and renewal, it throws those who are struggling a lifeline they can cling to until they get safely to the other side of the shore.

Napoleon Bonaparte once said, “A leader is a dealer (merchant) of hope…”   The stories surrounding our scars allow us to do just that, offer hope and confidence to someone who is hurting. It helps them shift their perspective from the problem they are experiencing to the outcome they will ultimately experience when they come through this.

We all have scars. Some are visible; others are not.

A scar is a reminder of what happened, and that we’ve overcome it and moved on.

Each scar tells a story.  How we tell that story matters.

What stories do your scars say about you?

More importantly, what stories could your scars be saying that you’re not currently telling that others who are struggling need to hear from you?