Opinion | The Physical and Emotional Impact of a Scar

People tell me I’m beautiful. They say that I have a perfect shade of strawberry-blonde hair that no dye could ever produce, that I have long legs they wish they could steal. While the compliments are sweet, they have never carried much weight in my life. Not because I didn’t believe them or that I felt it was vain to accept a compliment on my beauty, but because appearance wasn’t important to me. Little did I know, it would soon become the most important aspect of my life.

On March 18, 2014, I was rushed into emergency surgery to remove a festering infection of group B streptococcus that had spread through out my entire abdominal cavity, causing my kidneys to go into failure and my organs to begin binding together.

I was left with a 12 inch incision running from above my, once was, bellybutton to just below my hips, unimaginable amounts of scar tissue and the knowledge that I will never be able to fully recover.

My life was forever changed.

After going through such an invasive surgery, I was all of a sudden closed-off, terrified and unsure; I didn’t know if I was ever going to be able to cope with what happened to me. I acted like I was this strong survivor who was empowered by her trial, but I was actually just a frightened little girl that was too scared to say she wasn’t ok.

After my scars began to heal, physically and mentally, I began to struggle with an entirely different battle than I ever thought I would— my appearance. I would look at myself in the mirror, see my scar and begin to weep. “No one will think I’m pretty. I will never be able to wear a bathing suit again. I am damaged goods.”

The standard of beauty that the United States requires told me that I was repulsive, unworthy of affection, incapable of loving myself because I wasn’t perfect and I believed it. Instead of seeing myself as beautiful, I just focused on my unsightly scar and listened to the impossible, demeaning American beauty standards of perfect hair, skin, body shape and size.

After going through months of excruciating insecurity and diffidence, a friend of mine told me this, “You’re the toughest chick I know. A stupid scar shouldn’t be stopping you from going after your dreams.”

She pushed me out of my appearance-driven depression.

Beauty standards are subjective and petty; why are we striving for a carbon copy standard of beauty? Get out there, love who you are and embrace your scars.