I scar terribly.  You know those really ugly, red, raised, about-to-take-over-your-entire-body type scars. It’s not always been this way. It started 4 years ago, came in unannounced, and has grown progressively worse ever since.

This is why you will never see me wearing a tank top.  If you thought the sleeves on my wedding dress were an attempt to follow the Royal Wedding trend, you are mistaken.  Wearing my hair down was also a part of the I-have-to-cover-my-scars wedding maddness.

I was a cutter for seven years of my life.  It started freshman year of highschool and ended a year after moving to Nashville.  The three years preceding this were hellish, otherwise known as middle school.

There were two boys who made it their mission to make my life miserable.  I was not popular, not attractive, had zero self esteem, and they often reminded me of it.  I am rather passionate about the topic of bullying, but the details of that are for another post and another time. Lucky for me, they left my small private school before entering high school.

Life compounded and cutting quickly became my coping mechanism of choice.  What started  as a physical manifestation of an emotional pain, quickly grew into an addiction of my spirit, mind, and body. The pain slowly disappeared and left me an emotional leper.  I was unable to feel.  I did not know joy or sorrow.  I would stare at the scars on my body and let them remind me that I was alive.

I emerged on the other side of that decade with zero scars.  I often found myself grieving over this fact.  They became my closest friends, and the truth tellers of my identity.  They were my security blanket.  Life without them was something to be feared.

I stand in front of the mirror now the opposite of everything I was then.  My season of self harm has been replaced with one of continued healing.  I feel joy and sorrow, intensely and often.

I stand in front of the mirror covered in scars….Scars from my healing. 

Each one was created in my pursuit of health.  (Removing a small tumor on my ear, removing precancerous moles on my back and arms, etc.)  I can’t help but to tear up at the thought. What a gracious gift from God!  He did not allow me to brand myself in harm, but rather in health.

I am reminded daily that the pursuit of health and life is hard.  We may scar along the way, but these are badges of courage.

It takes courage to run after healing.  It takes courage to creatively live the stories of our lives.  It takes courage to let God woo us.  It takes courage to say goodbye to our old safety blankets.

I pray for this courage daily, and daily it finds home in my heart.

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