There are many kinds of scars, some external that everyone can see and others internal, hidden from the world. My husband has the first kind. He was burned on over 80% of his body when he was just 24 because of an industrial accident. He spent the 6 months that followed fighting for his life in a burn center and miraculously survived, but not without consequences. He lost his hearing and his movie star good looks. He wanted the life he had, not the life he was left with. It took many years and the love of his great family and friends for him to find himself again. Thankfully he did. By the time I met him, he was a confident, warm, authentic, candid, playful and grateful man. He didn’t worry about the little stuff. He didn’t pretend to be anyone or anything. His genuine approach to life made him beautiful.
I’ve learned a lot about scars over the years from my husband. Maybe the biggest lesson is that what damages us can also make us stronger. The scars we carry aren’t meant to define us. Instead, they should add depth and wisdom and perspective. We don’t need to hide them, either. Honestly, they’re a beautiful part of what it means to be alive.