Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars. ~ Khalil Gibran.
Most people tend to dislike scars, to view them as a stigmatic mark on the body or mind. After all, a scar in the physical sense serves as a memory of a cut, an injury, a burn or hurt of some kind. But even as a child, I always admired them, not only on others, but the ones I'd obtained from a few good falls and scrapes. I felt they added character and saw them as a reminder of pain and oftentimes a lesson learned, but also as proof of healing.
The internal scars, the mental or emotional ones ... those are a little trickier. For me, they can be quite stealth, hiding for months or even years until something ignites their ridged surfaces, unveiling the impact their original hurts had bestowed. But even then, they emerge as a symbol of wisdom, served up for me to drink if I chose to. I didn't always choose to.
It's easy to get tangled in those interwoven strands of toughened tissue and letting their density construct a wall from further harm... and yet, from further living. It's facile to hide behind those thick husks as though their mere presence makes us somehow members of this elite faction with the right to remain jaded and covered in scales of armor. I've come to realize that scars can be the root of hindering just as well as a rite of passage. When embraced, they not only offer remembrance and knowledge, strength and evidence of repair ... they also represent a life lived.
~ C ~