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Why would anyone think that a scar is beautiful?

After undergoing an in-office medical procedure last week and recalling the births of two of my children (since we celebrated their birthdays in the same span of time since I last posted), I’ve been aware of my scars.

I have scars from my two C-section deliveries. There’s a spot on the back of my right hand leftover from an IV when I was in the ICU after the other eventful birthing experience. A small line on the inside of my arm where they performed a bleeding test to figure out what had gone wrong. In fact, my little guy has a scar in about the same spot on the inside of his elbow from the central line IV when he was in the NICU after birth.

And not all my scars are visible on the outside … or even in my flesh to begin with.

What do scars tell us? They are evidence of former trauma. And they are proof that we survived the battle. I’ve even heard that scar-tissue is stronger than what came before. (That’s how weight-lifting builds strength. You tear tiny muscle fibers and then let them heal.)

So, when I look at my scars, I don’t see the pale, pink, or puckered skin. I see a memorial to the battles of life that I’ve fought and won. And I can see where I’ve grown stronger because of them.

What about you? What scars do you have? Are they still tender and painful or have they healed completely? What battles do they represent?

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