That Might Leave a Mark

Every Scar Tells a Story

Aug 26, 2025

My car is starting to show some wear and tear. She’s not quite shiny and new anymore and sports a few scratches. Needs a little maintenance now and then.

I regularly get emails from the dealership trying to get me to trade her in and upgrade to new. But she’s still a good car. Functions well. Still comfortable. Has a lot of life left.

She just has a few scars. One from when I didn’t pull up far enough and the garage door came down on her bumper. A couple of dings and scrapes from people in parking lots. (Rude.) Her imperfections aren’t even that visible until you get up close and really look.

It was nice when she was practically pristine, but it’s kind of a given that as soon as you drive a car off the lot, there will eventually be an accumulation of imperfections.

Same goes for people. We start out pretty perfect. Then life happens. We all end up with dings, scratches and worse. All of us have scars.

I’ve never minded them though. Scars tell stories.

My husband has a plum sized scar on his cheek from a childhood skin graft. He’s a tiny bit self conscious about it, but I never even notice it. Had to pull up photos to even remember which side of his face it’s on. And this is a face I see every day. It’s a part of him but it’s nothing I ever think of when I think of him. The mark of self consciousness its left on my husband is bigger than the scar itself.

Most of my own scars aren’t too visible, but I have a lot of them.

The one under my chin is actually a twofer. I was a toddler when I slipped in the bathtub at my grandparent’s house and cracked it open the first time. My first ever ER visit and stitches left me with my introductory permanent mark. Cracked it open again in college on a drunken New Year’s Eve in New York when I tripped, couldn’t get my hands out of my coat pockets and landed on my face.1

There’s the scar on my upper back where I had a skin cancer removed. I can’t see it, but I think of it every six months when I see my dermatologist for follow-up.

I have barely there scars from a life changing breast reduction. Although they are hardly visible, I was happy to accept any sized scar for the triple tradeoff of running in only one sports bra instead of three, being able to see my ribcage again and reduced back pain.2

My C-section scar is one I’m beyond thankful to have. After years of infertility and miscarriages, I gave birth to my beautiful boy. Although he was breech and a procedure to turn him failed, being pregnant and delivering him—regardless of the method—was an absolute privilege. The scar is a reminder that he exists.3

A hip replacement on one side and knee replacement on the other left me with the war wounds of these major surgeries. But they also left me with the ability to continue doing things I love like hiking, dancing, Pilates and travel.

My body is home to other various scars. Other reminders of moments in time. Repairs: a meniscus, a hernia. Removals: gallbladder, kidney stone. A finger sliced while chopping carrots. Skin singed by a leaping flame.

My biggest scars are the ones you can’t see at all though.

Growing up with a cheating, explosive dad. That left a mark.

Living through the turmoil and unpredictability of my parents’ marriage falling apart. An invisible gash.

My mom’s depression, disease and death. Permanent stitches in my heart.

The responsibility and chaos of my mentally ill and autistic sister. An open wound.

My scars aren’t special. Every soul on earth is a wounded warrior of some sort. Some of us are more wounded than others.

Some people try to cover their scars whether with makeup, addiction, religion, anger, power or a million other things. But scars are like ghosts of lives gone by. And like ghosts, they come with stories.

Or maybe they’re like tattoos we didn’t choose. They may stretch, change or fade over time. But they never go away. Even if we attempt to remove them, they leave a trace. A memory. Proof that something happened. Evidence that we’ve been marked by time. Normal wear and tear.

Like the dings on my car, my scars don’t impede my ability to function. In fact, they show I’ve been somewhere.

My body, like my car, still takes me where I need to go. I don’t mind my scars coming along for the ride. I’m hopeful for a lot of road still to go. It’s good to have some stories for the trip.