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What Do Your Scars Say About You?

Don't hide your scars

The other day I looked down at my arm to see one of my scars. It’s a round, deep scar, about the size of a cigarette butt. Because that’s what it’s from.

It was 2004. I was fresh out of college and ready to PARTY. I was working at the coolest boutique in town, slinging whisky at the best bar in town, and my band was opening for the likes of Blondie.

I thought I was prittty damn cool.

And so when my friend said…”Hey! Let’s go to a Motley Crue show!” It seemed like the perfect plan.

I wanted to practice my new “networking” skills which included befriending all the coolest guys in bands, and getting backstage wherever me and my friends went.

We pre-partied in the car in the parking lot of the show. And by the time we even got to our seats, we were all drunk.

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Me an E. One sip away from our scars.

And in our drunken stupor something ridiculous happened.

My friend E wanted to tell me something in my ear. She forgot that at the time she had a cigarette in her hand. So when she went to tell me, she burned my ear with her cigarette.

To which I responded with grabbing it from her hand and putting it out on her arm. (These are drunk games…I don’t recommend them.)

Immediately, I realized what I had done and felt horrible. My pain and anger led me to completely irrational behavior. And so I took it even further and said “shit…I’m so sorry…here…you can do it to me, so we’re even.”

And so she did. She put out her cigarette on my arm.

It bubbled and eventually burst into the perfect round scar I now have on the inside of my forearm.

Ten years later and I can still remember it like it was yesterday.

And everytime I see it, I giggle. And I remember. My friends, that show, how I felt back then, what happened after.

It has almost become a mile marker for my life.

Now, I don’t recommend getting scars on purpose, but thinking about all this reminded me that we are all so unique. So interesting. With our own specific stories and experiences.

Our scars tell our stories. Remind us of the people we once were. (TWEET THIS)

This goes the same for physical scars we can see, and hidden scars, like our broken hearts, our experiences growing up, that one time that your dad forgot to pick you up from kindergarten and you found yourself crying while walking down the streets of your city, all alone, not knowing where you live, until a police officer found you and eventually took you home.

We get to see our scars, look at them, remember what happened, and then decide. Choose who we want to be now. Look at how far we’ve come. Realize that it’s only a scar. We can choose to still be that person who got the scar, or we can choose to be someone else.

And this is a Wildheart life. Choice. Consciousness. About who we are, where we’ve been, and where we want to go from here.

Although I DO still go to Motley Crue shows, there is very little pre-partying these days, and I’m fairly certain I’ll never have another cigarette scar in this way.

I choose to do it differently now. But it sure was a hell of a lot of fun back then.

So for now…I get to look at it and giggle at the experiences I’ve had. My scars tell my story and so do yours. What do yours say about you?

As always, I love to hear from you. Leave your own/most favorite/most interesting scar story in the comments below. XO, Sally P.s. Here are some of my favorite “scar” stories: 1) Scar on my foot from roller derby 2) Scar on my lip and belly button from piercings 3) Scar on the back of my calf from searching for wild sage in the riverbanks of the Madison River in Montana.

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7 Responses to What Do Your Scars Say About You?

  1. Shannon says:

    Oh man scars are fun! I have a bunch from living 3/4 my life as a bad ass tomboy. I think my most odd scars were all by choice from my body piercing days.

    OK ready for this? If I stand with the sun on my back and pull my hair out of the way you can see the sun through my ear. Why? well I had a hole the size of a stir straw, maybe a little bigger, PUNCHED out of my ear. Here comes the weird part. (yeah that wasn’t it) So all of my friends were body piercing dudes and ya know i was a tom boy so I had to show I was super tough right? So of course it was all done without any numbing anything (not even a shot of whiskey) and then…. I had to ear the little ear dot. Ya know to prove I was tough or somthing. LOLOL and so I did, both, swallowed.

    So technically I’m a cannibal. NDB.

  2. Elizabeth West says:

    I have a scar on the top of my hand I had gotten back when I was 10. Its the shape of a crescent moon. Back then til I was about 24 I was a gameaholic. One day at the biggest Christmas we ever had with all of our family members present. My brother sat down his fameboy which I left mine at home. I was upset watching him play his. So I ran up and grabbed it. Well about five minutes in he had realized I was playing with it. Well he began to scream like a little girl. Well gram came running to his rescue to only be told I took it. Well she asked for it and I replied with a simple no about six times. Well gram had it with me and snatched right out of my hand wguch her other hand gladly gouged my skin right off. My flesh was hanging. It hurt yeah plus it bled. But those aren’t the biggest memory I have from that day. Between that day and the next two years we lost 13 of those family members. I remember we were together. My grams mother had to sell that house when she was dying. It was dead center of Detroit, right across the street stood the landmark “cadieux” cafe where all the legendary celebrities went to play feather bowling. We seen so many with our eyes but that was enough for any child. But above anything I carry a part of that house with me- my scar. Soon my grandmother wont be with us anymore which she raised us and today marks my brother Ronnies birthday. (The one that thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world) he would of been 30 yrs old. I used to dislike my scar but as I had gotten older I realized its a part of me and that ol house on Cadieux.

  3. Paulette says:

    When I was about ten, I was playing with some kids and this boy pushed me into a hedge. A branch that was sticking out punched a hole in the front of my shin. My mom wanted me to get stitches but I begged her not to, and she gave in. Now, when I see that scar I realize that getting your way at 10 may not be the best thing, that being a mom was just as hard for my mom as it can be for me, that all mothers struggle with the dichotomy between what they think is probably right..but MAY not be…and what their kids think they want. And I’ve also learned that getting a shot and stitches isn’t the horrifying experience I thought it was then. Just like lots of things I’ve feared over my lifetime.

  4. Erin says:

    I think of my tattoos as bookmarks in the sane way. I have a tattoo of a ladybug that this guy designed me for my eighteenth birthday. I got a flower tattooed on my wrist when I broke up with the same guy when I was twenty.
    They’re colourful scars and they remind me of that girl I used to be, the one who thought a ladybug tattoo and the guy who sketched it were worthy of permanence.

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