The Memories in our Scars

I stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror and carefully covered the three soon-to-be scars on my abdomen with bandages to prevent them getting wet. Earlier today I found myself uncharacteristically sad, and thought it was either time for my bi-annual cry, or I needed to re-center a bit before bed. I made myself a cup of tea, lit a candle, and slid in to the bath. One of my long-time favorite meditations began pouring out of my phone, I closed my eyes, and made space for whatever it was that needed to come out.

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I have at least 10 scars on my abdomen, some of which you can almost no longer see, and some of which are still healing from just a few days ago. The first scar holds the memory of welcoming my twins in to the world. There are fleeting memories of feeling resentment about that first scar, as it wasn't "supposed to" happen that way. I wanted desperately to have a perfect, natural, unassisted birth. What we ended up with was a perfect, beautiful, and serendipitous birth as those two perfect tiny little humans came in to the world. The second scar has blended with the first, and holds memories of welcoming my third child. By that pregnancy I'd become even more resolved and stubborn, but the scar arrived much the same as the first. What I'd known to do the second time, however, was to take a moment before the surgery to let go of the birth I'd been dreaming of, and allow myself to receive the birth I was about to experience. That night, I asked everyone to leave my hospital room and I sobbed. I let go, and surrendered to what ended up to be a beautiful, perfect experience, too. The next set of scars hold memories of some of the most profound letting go I'd been called to do thus far. It was when my body developed those scars, that I knew it was time to let go of the life I'd created so I could truly live the life I was meant to. Now, seeing those scars reminds me that sometimes it's best to cut out the broken parts so you can move forward in a healthier way. And now, I have three more places that are healing on my abdomen, which will soon become scars of their own. I don't believe in right or wrong choices, but instead believe that most of the time we make the choice that is best in that moment. The surgery a few days ago was a choice. It wasn't the right choice, or the wrong choice… but it was the best choice in the moment that I made it, and I do not feel regret. What I do feel is sadness… a sadness that I just didn't see coming. The first thing I remember saying after coming out of anesthesia was, "I can't have babies anymore." I didn't see it coming. I didn't know I'd feel sad. The thing is, I don't want more babies. And yet, there's a sadness and grief sitting inside me tonight. The soon-to-be scars hold the memory that I'll never be pregnant again. I'll never feel a baby moving around in my belly. I'll never again stare at the little waves in total awe and amazement at what a body can do. I'll never feel the giant waves of emotion after holding a child that grew inside of me. I'll never hold a teenie human against my chest and feel the flood of oxytocin and the bliss of hormones as they latch and nurse. And I'll never watch that teenie human fall asleep at my breast while I stare at their teenie fingers resting gently and wonder how I got so lucky. The truth is, I don't want more babies, but tonight I allowed myself to feel what is also true: What I want, what my heart is grieving today, is the loss of ever getting to have a different experience. I came to understand that lying dormant somewhere within me was a lingering hope that I could have had a different experience. And that hope deserves to be let go with love. Someday I will look back on these scar's memories with grace and loving kindness because they'll remind me that letting go of something often makes space for new things. They'll remind me that closing that chapter of my life was the best choice in this moment and allows me the space to begin writing a new chapter. These new scars will remind me of my unwavering courage and ability to surrender. But tonight is not about looking back or looking ahead. Tonight is about being fully present, finding that place of grief, and moving towards it. Sitting in it. There will be new, beautiful things to hope for, this I know. For now, I'll surrender to the memories these new scars will hold. And in time I will love the memories in these scars, too.

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I wasn't prepared to stand naked in the mirror and feel this way. I wasn't prepared to see the scars on my abdomen and realize how deep their memories are. If your scars carry memories and you find yourself in the valley of grief at times, know that there are millions of us sitting there with you. When we're ready we'll climb out together, because when one of us rises… we all do.

In loving gratitude, always.