I have a scar on my left cheek. It’s been there since I was around 10 or 12 years old when I had a birth mark removed. From the moment I could wear any make-up until just a few months ago, I wouldn’t leave the house without covering it. What’s probably unnoticeable to you has always felt like this obvious red scar in the middle of my cheek that I didn’t want anyone to see.
Granted its faded over the years but who wants others to see their scars? To see what feels like a battle wound? Perhaps symbolic of my chunky childhood self. The person who was never the popular kid. For the people I’ve reconnected with through Facebook, you know it’s the truth. Concealing — with my favorite maximum Clinique concealer for nearly two decades — was a daily occurrence. Go to the gym or the pool without it on? Never. Try to kiss me on that cheek? Hated it. I was constantly aware.
More recently it finally hit me how silly this was, how tiny this scar was…and how it was not obvious to anyone but me. We all have scars. Some visible on our bodies — from days of playing sports, from clumsy moments, from who knows what. Others have internal scars. Some of emotional abuse, or hurt and sadness from a lost relative, a broken relationship. Those are the scars that often hurt the most and take longest to heal yet there’s no magic concealer for that. If only Clinique could, right?
Ironic that I spent so much time covering up the tiny little thing — perhaps because it’s easier to slather on concealer — when really I have my our shit. We all do. My years of feeling inferior due to being overweight, and even weight loss caused other mental issues with food and body perceptions for a long time. My bladder’s so badly damaged from being sick a few years ago that I have botox injected into it so I don’t pee on myself. Truth. Feeling scarred by not having those friendships since I was in kindergarten since we moved a bunch of times. Of, being from a family of divorce. I’m sure there’s more, but who cares. They’re not painful, they’re simply reminders of another time in my life. Just like the scar on my face. They’re part of me, but not who I am or what define.
Either way, most have faded and others, mostly related to my health, I push down because I can’t let them get the best of me. If you do, they win and I have way to much joy in my life to let them do that. I realized though letting a stupid little scar — now probably the size of some teenage-pimple-popping-gone-bads-size scar — get the best of me. Or at least take up even a second of my days.
It’s these scars that make us who we are. Who shape our world view, and hopefully make us stronger. That help us rise up and realize we can’t let any bad experiences, self doubt or loathing get the best of us.
Hopefully this doesn’t sound like gibberish. When you take the time every single day for 20+ years to conceal something, and then finally let that go, it’s a big moment, despite how small the scar might be now.
