This is me
As her chin dipped down, and she noticed the soft raised skin, her heart skipped a beat. Meagan hated that an accidental glimpse still shot anxiety through her like knives. Her stomach could drop to her feet while her heart raced, all from just seeing a part of herself. It was a stupid reaction Meagan didn’t often have, but when she was already nervous about judgment it was inevitable.
She hoped against hope it wouldn’t always be that way.
Meagan was strong, she wasn’t a kid anymore, and she loved herself. It was stupid to feel such turmoil over something that was so far in the past. And it was truly overcome. But the visual, the tangible marker she could touch, the fact that her skin was marked and different forever, that’s what sent her nerves into overdrive every once in a while.
Even after all this time, it could still catch her off guard. After everything, as much as it represented her strength, it also represented the wastelands of hurt she had waded through; she tried to remember that some badges of honor weren't pretty. And hers were small enough. But just like her past, they would never go away. Life didn’t have rewind or pause buttons. There weren’t real un-dos or re-dos. Life only had the present, the here and now, and it only had a play button.
She wished so often the tiny pink reminders were easier to hide. Though they didn’t stand out too much, their placement was inconvenient. If she could take them off, she would consider it, because she always had her memories and the lessons she'd learned. There were little pink reminders inside her head as well. Those could never be removed. The rest, even if they were badges of honor, weren’t as necessary anymore.
She would always remember.
It sounded shaming, to want to hide them, but that wasn’t Meagan’s intention. She wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed of who she was, but others still questioned or judged when they noticed a scar. They pried and probed about personal experiences that weren’t any of their business to be nosey about. Then they went quiet after she answered. That was the worst. Eyes averted and the subject always changed, but not until a pregnant pause passed between them first.
She absolutely despised awkward silences that followed a forced explanation.
That’s not how Meagan liked to open up.
Because that’s what it was to tell people about what had happened. It was opening herself up for examination. She had to be vulnerable and share history that wasn’t always easy to talk about when she was honest about her scars. Trust was needed in order to be comfortable in giving parts of herself away like that. Otherwise it felt wrong. But when Meagan was the one to choose on her own to share with individuals she cared about, it was only when she deemed both parties ready. It was always better if everyone was ready.
She just preferred to give the information instead of have it pulled from her. That wasn’t too tough a concept.
Because sometimes when it was demanded or requested of her before she was ready, somehow Meagan felt violated. She loved herself, she was proud of who she was despite what she’d faced, so she never lied about how she got her scars. Even if she was unprepared and surprised by the questioning, or reluctant to answer, she always told the truth. But it felt like betraying herself, violating her own security, when she gave out the information before she was ready.
She wouldn’t pretend. No lies. That was a rule. She’d promised herself after healing to never diminish her past or push it under the rug. So occasionally when she knew it wouldn’t go well, and it seemed easier to lie, she had to bully herself into honesty, which only added to the feeling of violation.
Don’t you love yourself?
Don’t you still think you’re strong?
Who cares if the truth makes others uncomfortable.
If you lie, it’s like you’re hurting yourself all over again. That’s not worth it.
And her honest side always won.
But today wasn’t worth the internal battle. It would just be easier not to need debating, convincing, or sharing at all. So as Meagan got ready for her interview, she put on a long-sleeved shirt.
She covered the scars for self-preservation, for protection. And she guarded herself from the judgment of others. Never from herself, not anymore. But from others it was still necessary.
And to be honest, even if she was ever given the chance to remove those scars, if she thought about it hard enough, she wouldn’t. She would keep her badges. It was just a reactionary thought that floated around sometimes. But the scars were always there, and they were hers. They just didn’t need to be seen by everyone. And they didn’t need to be seen today.
But they would never totally go away.
And that was okay with Meagan. It had taken time but after a long road, now it was okay.