When I look at my scar it says, "Don't look". It hides under a flap of skin that no diet or exercise will rid me of. I glance past it quickly, it's hidden, why think of it? Why look at it? Why think of how my body will never, ever be the same there? My body has changed in many, many ways in the last few years. I have other scars. Scores of stretch marks, flab that my bony teenage self never dreamed she would bear. I drink it all in easily, before the mirror. I don't spend any inordinate amount of time wondering what others will think when they see it. If they will be disgusted. Stretch marks are normal. Having your appendix out isn't too weird. Heck, that appendectomy scar is kind of cool! Want to see?
But my scar hides. Even in a skimpy swimsuit, it's invisible. Even naked, I have to pull up my belly to see it. And that makes it easier, not having to look at it all the time. I can almost pretend it's just a fold of fat.
It says that I should have done something different. It says that knowledge is not enough to save you. It says that acting on knowledge is hard, so hard, when you are alone, and everyone is telling you it's ok, it's not a big deal, sometimes it happens this way, you tried it all, it's time to let THEM try. Time to hand over the reins of your body to the experts. They know the buttons to push. They can make it work.
And I believed them.
When I touch my scar it yells "DON'T TOUCH!". I cringe and grimace. My muscles tense. Sometimes touches hurt. Sometimes they don't. It has been years, and my subconscious says that it's still not healed. "Don't touch! Be careful! You just don't know what will happen if you press here, or push there. It may hurt!"
The worst part is I've proven to my scar that it's fine. I've carried another healthy, beautiful child, in that scarred uterus. I pushed him into this world with minimal fuss and to-do. Working as intended! Fully functional!
But oh so fragile. Please don't touch. Will my scar ever believe it has healed?