Scars

Fall down. Get back up. Keep going. It's like rinse and repeat for outdoors enthusiasts, except instead of getting clean you're getting dirtier and more scuffed up.

I recently read an editorial on the issue of being a female action-sports enthusiast in a professional (re - suits) setting. In brief, it said that scars from things like climbing are not socially accepted in that arena, but are difficult to cover up and can be perceived as marks of domestic abuse as opposed to the mountain hitting back. While I'm not in a really professional setting (grad school is pretty chill though some conferences require nicer dress), and while Salt Lake is somewhere bruised and bloody athletes can be found everywhere and anywhere, I've also experienced other's distaste at my occasionally scabbed self. Take for instance a recent 3.5" x 5" scab on my left knee; my mom was worried about how it would look in my friend's wedding photos (though it healed before my friend could worry).

Scars are a fact of life when it comes to me. I'm not exactly the most coordinated person on two feet, so it's inevitable that in pursuing things like rock climbing and hiking and whatnot I am going to fall. Luckily most of my scars seem to only last a couple of years before healing, but I don't really care either  way. They're a mark of what I've done and accomplished, and each one has a story. It's like people with tattoos: most people, save for maybe those with the pretty dolphin tramp stamps, have a reason for each of theirs. They have MEANING, and so just like my Hamsa tattoo my tattoo mean something to me.

The two quarter sized ones a couple of inches below my knees? Bouldering/scrambling in Arches last Fall. The now barely visible one on my left lower leg? Fell after bouldering with Matt in Little Cottonwood canyon. The one on my left middle finger pad? Making my mom a present for Mother's day in the late 90's. The one on my forehead? Chicken pox. The list goes on. Scars are better than scrapbooking; they're memories you carry with you.

Usually a good amount of pain is required in the formation of a scar; the cut has to be deep or the burn exceptionally hot. What's more, not all scars are visible to the naked eye. You need X-rays to see some of my worst; the broken arms, toes, fingers, collar bone. There are emotional scars too, and sometimes we don't even realize those are there. It's invisible, undetectable scar tissue. Take me for instance: growing up I was an awkward, weird kid and that made me an easy target for bullying. As a kid I didn't realize it was bullying, but in retrospect (especially after attending a seminar on the subject for a mentoring program I was a part of) I was bullied for most of middle school and part of high school. Probably some in elementary school but my memory kind of sucks (hence the helpful scar reminders). Anyway, the scar here was one I hadn't realized I was carrying around until recently; I was looking through my high school yearbooks and had an epiphany: people liked me. Even people who I didn't even think of as friends. Instead of the typical 'HAGS' or 'You're great' I have quarter- to half-page paragraphs from 95% of the people who signed. A lot of them were expressing things like I was instrumental in their enjoying that year or I helped them be stronger or whatever. They were impressed by my individuality, etc.

That was quite the wakeup call; I hadn't realized that I'd let the negative treatment I'd received as a kid shape the woman I am now. I've never been one to try to fit in, I've always be an individual, I guess I just thought that I couldn't fit in by being me so I ostracized myself. I've got an awesome group of friends, don't get me wrong, but I hadn't been social and always assumed people thought the worst of me.

So now I'm cutting that scar tissue away. That's one scar don't need to keep and I'll apply some emotional Mederma to make that sucker disappear. The physical scars though? Nah, those I like. They're like another fingerprint, something that's uniquely me, and until they make me grotesque I'll just roll with it. I'll probably have another story or two by the end of this summer and the scars are just the conversation starter.