Healing isn't the Absence of Scars

They say that time heals all wounds. Truthfully, I don't believe time actually heals anything. I think that time only distracts from the throbbing pain through distractions of everyday life. What's important is what we do during the passing of time. Healing is a process, not a 'fix'. "Healing isn't the absence of scars": I have found this to be the truest statement on grief. The words, "move on", "everything happens for a reason", "look at the bright side" still ring in my ears. I've heard this told to myself and others in the depths of grieving. Words born from well-meaning and genuine hearts, but they are a sting to the gut when heard from the hurting. They may be kind, but they aren't helpful. When loss happens so deeply, so wholly, the wounds left by it are raw and full of confusing emotion. The cuts are angry, tender, and hopeless. They can be mended, but the scars will stay visible from the moment they first appear. Maybe the blatant 'freshness' of the wound won't be as noticeable; maybe people won't immediately ask you about it when they see you anymore, maybe the urgency of getting help will be dulled, but the scars are there and the memory of their pain is as clear as day. They can even be re-opened from memories awakened from the glance at a toy, a photo, or a smell. You cover it up because people will think it's been "long enough" and "surely she's gotten 'over it' by now". You don't want to seem unstable or crazy--you try to hide the once again fresh wound–cover it up with words like, "I'm fine", or "I'm just having a bad day". You try and try to fully heal, but healing sounds like your scars shouldn't show. The display of them on your skin makes others feel uncomfortable and you've been taught to believe that healing is to "move on" and pretend you're okay. So you get frustrated at yourself for not getting better, and you don't understand why the scars aren't fading even though you try to cover them up and ignore them.

“We’ve been through a lot, and though many of the wounds have healed, the scars they’ve left behind still throb every now and then.”― Neha Yazmin

Maybe the above isn't relatable to anyone else, but for me this has been the case for my grief. I've spent many days wondering if I should be further along in my healing process and why things can so easily trigger my grief, causing it to bubble up to the surface like it was yesterday. I've wondered how I could go a day or few without feeling sad, and in those moments feel guilty for having fun or enjoying myself. I go back and forth wishing on one hand, people would see my scars and ask me about them. That people wouldn't 'move on' so quickly without me--that they'd see how months/years later I'm still having flash backs of the trauma I've witnessed and how I still have days it's hard to get out of bed. Then on the other hand, I wish I could hide my scars. I get self conscious of the fact that they're there. I want to appear 'normal' and brave, and not show my weaknesses. I don't want to admit that there are battles I've fought and lost--that I haven't always come out on top. Instead of feeling victorious, invincible and confident, I feel lost, afraid, and broken. I've been afraid of failure in every aspect because this is something I had signed up for. When it was your decision to walk the difficult path, it's hard to admit you can't handle it.

“This is what the past is for. Every experience God gives us, every person He puts in our lives is the perfect preparation for the future that only He can see.” ― Corrie Ten Boom, The Hiding Place

The many, many little warriors I had the privilege of loving were each adorned in scars both visible and not. They borne theirs with dignity and strength, which led me to strive to do the same in my life. Their courage was unfathomable.

From the moment they came through the doors, everyone in the building would work endlessly to ease their pain...whatever that pain may be. We spent hours upon hours mending, hoping, praying, feeding, dressing. Filling their bellies with nutrition and medicine while tending to physical needs. We tried to fill their minds and hearts with affirmation, love and security. All of the work we put into healing their sweet lives was quietly healing us to. Because as we were witnessing improvement and physical healing, we were learning how to bear the scars that were forming on ourselves. We watched how they entered with physical and emotional scars, and saw that while theirs would never go away, there was hope. Even if the smallest glimmer of it. They could wear their scars and learn that they were worthy and loved. They could wear their scars and learn that they didn't have to be ashamed. We all could learn something from those beautiful babies. I did every single day, and I still am, even from the other side of the world. They are the ones who have taught me everything I know about grief, hope, and healing. They are the ones who have experienced it all more than I will ever be able to grasp. If I can see their scars as beautiful badges of bravery and honor, I can learn to accept mine as the same.

Healing isn't the absence of scars: They can still burn. They can open up, then mend, over and over again. I'm learning to accept them and wear them both humbly and proud. I consider myself a caretaker of their stories. Some are too tender and raw to share–so I keep those to myself–but I still embrace their presence. Some are stories of courage and honor, some are vulnerable and scary. Grief will follow me the rest of my life. It's a part of me now. The scars from it are unique, each carrying their own meanings and memories. But just as I have seen the resilience of others bearing unfathomable scars, I know it's possible to continue moving. No matter the pace, no matter the direction.

”Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.” – Helen Keller

I've realized over the past several months of being back in the states, for me, healing might look different. I realized that I don't necessarily know what it even means to be healed. I do know what it means to experience loss; to experience trauma, grief, and brokenness. I know what it feels like to be lost and confused and angry at everything and everyone. I also know what it feels like to carry all of that pain around with me during every-day life. To have it as a weight on my shoulders going to the grocery store, vacation, or a party. There are some days when the weight of all of it feels too much to handle so I let it consume me for a little bit until I'm ready to get back up again. But I also know what it feels like to still enjoy things; to enjoy parties, shopping, holidays and movies. I know I'm still capable of being able to fully love on another person or child and be genuinely happy doing it. I know that writing about my experiences help me release the tension inside of my mind and heart. I know that reading, praying, walking, and playing guitar are all things that feel helpful. Is this healing? Maybe. It feels hopeful–so I'll take it. There isn't a check-list, book, or step-by-step guide to figuring it all out. I think the path toward healing is profoundly different for every person...and wherever I/you/he/she is on the path, is okay. Some days feel bright and healthy, others feel dark and messy. Some days the scars burn like crazy, other days they're only a faint presence. We're all just getting through each day, and doing what we can moment by moment. Experiencing our own hard, our own losses, traumas, and grief. It's not helpful or worth it to compare it to another's, as I've learned even when experiencing the exact same trauma, every person reacts in their own way and feels the affects on varying levels. There is no right or wrong way to gain or mend your scars.

I don't have answers for myself or anyone else on how to swim the upstream battle through all of the above. I just know that we all have scars that may never be fully healed on this earth...and that's okay. But I do believe there is a sunrise on the horizon: It feels like hope–and maybe healing will come with it–so I'll keep my eyes on that.

Time might not heal all wounds, but maybe we can make something beautiful with it as we pass through.

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Time | John Lucas

My heart has known the winters And my feet have known the snow But mine eyes have seen the glory Of a seed begin to grow There is a time to uproot, darling But most days just hold on tight For there’s a time for darkness, honey But dawn will always beat the night Sometimes death will come calling When you’ve been good and warned And other times its cold hands will cradle Dreams yet to be born There is a time to dance on sorrow And a time to kiss her cheek There is a time to mourn in silence But justice aches to hear you speak And I don’t know the end, or tomorrow’s story But I have found the one who gives me rest And I will make my bed in His promises For He holds true when nothing’s left...When nothing’s left There is a time when laughter will echo Through your halls of peace But war is known to change your locks And carry off the family keys There is a time for healing and pain A time for drought and a time for rain There is a time for everything Until we crown the risen King…Until we crown the risen King And I don’t know the end, or tomorrow’s story But I have found the one who gives me rest And I will make my bed in His promises For He holds true when nothing’s left...When nothing’s left So crown Him in your mourning And crown Him in your laughter And crown Him when it all turns dark Crown Him when you bury And crown Him when you marry And crown Him when your faith finds a spark Crown Him for He’s faithful And crown Him for He’s worthy And crown Him for He is good Crown Him for His promises Cut through the blindness Of children that have barely understood The beauty that has come And the beauty yet to come And the beauty that is yours and that is mine And that death produces life And that we are made alive By the King who paints beauty with time By the King who paints beauty with time By the King who paints beauty with time And I don’t know the end, or tomorrow’s story But I have found the one who gives me rest And I will make my bed in His promises For He holds true when nothing’s left...When nothing’s left