Tag Archives: Scars

Weighed Down

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It’s been awhile dear (fictional) readers. I know that I was going to try to be better about posting on a “regular” basis. But words are hard. As much as I’ve tried to post even something short and entertaining…I can’t. Unless I truly feel like what I am going to say/type have meaning. That everything I put down in this virtual collection of my whims, thoughts, and opinions could at some point help someone.

A couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine, in the midst of a conversation asked me if I had always internalized my feelings. my reaction was a quick short, “HA!” It was almost as if the response was instinctual. No, I haven’t always internalized my feelings, that was a learned behavior. I could track it back to elementary school, but even more so to certain instances from my early college life. Things happen, people were involved, and words were said…those words have formed me, changed me.

Words. Words. Words.

I could forget everything that happened leading up to these experiences, but I will never forget the words that were said, and I will never forget what they made me feel.

When I was young the greatest lie I was ever told, came in the form a sing-song nursery type rhyme, “sticks and stones can break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”

I’ll take bruises and broken bones any day over the scars left from things said to me. Bruises fade, bones heal, the scars are a constant reminder of the hurtful things that were said.

Not all words hurt. That’s what makes words so powerful. They can do harm or good. They can scar or heal. They can build up or tear down. Teaching people, children especially that words don’t hurt, is foolish. Why spend time telling the girl crying in the corner that what the other kids say about her don’t matter? To her they do. Why don’t we teach people to be kind? Kindness will get you everywhere in life. You may disagree with me, but then why do websites like Upworthy exist? We are living in a harsh reality where we grasp at good deeds caught on video, like a kid on an unlimited shopping spree at Toys R’ Us. Do kids even like Toys R’Us  anymore? Why? Because there’s so much hurt and pain already in the world that we are starved for anything that reminds us of the goodness of humanity.

The problem is that we spend time on YouTube looking at these videos instead of actively engaging our community. It sounds crazy, cliche, and cheesy, but learning how to say hello and smile at those you pass on the street, in stores, and interact with on a daily basis, whether they are known or unknown to you, is a step towards making a change.

If you have already conquered this simple task. Congrats.

So I’ll offer you a more difficult challenge. Try and reflect on all the words that have left scars, now take a deep breath and let them go. Forgive those who said them. Then reflect on all the words that have left you glowing, have raised you up, affirmed you. Hold tight to them. Write them down. Carry them with you.

We so often cling to the negative and brush aside the compliments and the positive. It should be the opposite, but we all know that doesn’t happen unless we work to make it so.

Practice this over and over again, but don’t dwell on the negative, focus on the positive. These words have defined you, in some way, shape, or form, take ownership, don’t let them continue to define you, rather take control of how they’ll continue to influence you now and in the future.

Use your words for good. Words are powerful. Be conscious of your words, especially when directed at others.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.

Scar Tissue

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*Warning* This story may not be for the squeamish 

When I was about 4 years old, I had this toy, I refer to it as the rolling lion toy. Basically it was one of those toys that is supposed to help infants scoot around and then when they’re toddlers they can push it because it has a handle on the back. As a four year old I mainly used it like a shopping cart, but on one particular evening I was running around our house pushing the lion like it was a race car. Our house at the time was really a giant square with hardwood floors, so it was perfect for running laps at maximum speed. At some point my four year brain decided we had had enough of running in circles and would change it up, so as we rounded the corner from the kitchen to the living room I decided that instead of taking the next turn, I would instead go straight through the doorway into my bedroom. As I sped through the doorway, and onto a new race surface (carpet) I stayed the course and careened into the far wall. Upon impact I flipped over the handle bar landing seated on the lion and snapped my head forward, biting my tongue.

I don’t know if this was the same for everyone, but when I was little, the worst pain I could experience was biting my tongue. It was an awful sharp pain, and it was really only happening because I was eating or talking too fast and my tongue just got in the way of my teeth.

I remember immediately bursting into tears and running from the room to find what comfort I could from my mother. As I rushed into the kitchen, I got my mother’s attention by tugging on her shirt and my stifled closed mouth whimpers. I clearly remember my mother looking at me while I pointed frantically at my mouth, she cracked a smile and in a kind, yet mocking tone said to me, “Oh did little Kelly bite her tongue?” I nodded vigorously and then stuck my tongue out going “aaahhhh.” In an instant my mom’s face went from a smiling joke to abject horror! She quickly rushed me to the bathroom and told me to lean over the sink, keep my mouth shut, and not swallow. As I waited for her to return, curiosity got the best of me and opened my mouth while looking in the mirror. Immediately blood poured into the sink, I couldn’t really see much, but pain was telling me that the blood was coming from my tongue. As I was continuing to examine my mouth in the mirror my mom came back in with a glass of warm saltwater and told me to sit on the toilet and put my tongue in the cup. I did as I was told  and was then immediately rushed to the car, while my mother yelled at my brother Mark to be good and help dad finish dinner.

Upon arrival at the E.R. we hurried inside, being careful not to spill my now bloody glass of salt water – which, can I just say, tasted awful – The nurse at the front desk  immediately ushered us into a room and a doctor was not far behind. –Please note this was the fastest service I have received at the the ER to date – After a lot of cotton balls and gauze the doctor finally stemmed the bleeding enough to take a look and see what the damage was. The good news, my tongue was still intact and connected, the bad news I had bit all the way through. In reality there wasn’t any bad news, in fact I didn’t even need stitches, the doctor decided that he would bind my tongue and if, in a couple of days it wasn’t healing, then he would stitch it up. –I am eternally grateful not to have had stitches and that the tongue is the fastest healing organ in the body-  I was charged with no talking, and only eating of soft foods, which in my mind translated to pancakes! This was the best news I’d heard all day…I love pancakes.

My tongue eventually healed and yielded a fairly significant scar that covered most of my tongue when I was younger, over time the scar has gotten much smaller, which makes sense considering how your tongue grows from the time one is four years old to adulthood. Though smaller, the scar remains as a reminder of one of my many childhood ER visits and for all intents and purposes an entertaining story.

When I was a summer camp counselor, we used to use scar stories as a small group discussion ice breaker, and they yielded some of the most interesting stories, not to mention the kids became comfortable with the idea of small group sharing. We just asked the kids to tell the group an interesting story about something that happened to them that gave them a scar or even a broken bone (it is a scar in a way). It may seem bizarre that we were asking kids to tell us about a time when they hurt themselves, but there’s a reason we started things off that way. We all have scars, physical and emotional, it takes time, courage and strength to accept the scar and move past it. Scars can remind us of a time when we were vulnerable, and got hurt. And yet moving past those pains and scars are what make us stronger individuals. We were made to heal, a scar is just a reminder that we did heal. The kids loved telling their harrowing stories to a captive audience who “oohed” and “aahhhed” in all the right places, what they may not have realized at the time was that these kids were taking ownership in their life experiences, their pain, and most importantly, that they came back stronger.

I think scars can be a beautiful thing and I wouldn’t trade mine for the world. I hope you all can see the beauty and strength in your own scars.

Happy Wednesday!