#scoliosis

recently i realized i dont give a fuck anymore if i post pics of myself (on fb) where i look ‘stupid’ or I have my brace on

wearing (milwaukee) brace in the summer is fucking torment

today we had school field trip and we went to church and there was already a group of pupils AND A BOY WHO SAT LIKE 5M AWAY FROM ME ALSO HAD MILWAUKEE BRACE AND HE TURNED AROUND AND I SMILED AT HIM. IM SO HAPPY IM NOT THE ONLY ONE AROUND HERE

have had my brace for half year. felt like i should announce it

Scars come in many forms. At the end of our lives, I believe we are all left with some array of emotional scars. It would be a truly sheltered person who dies unscathed. Along with my emotional scars, I have physical ones to match. 

When I was a young girl, I was diagnosed with scoliosis. Eventually, my doctor recommended me for surgery, realizing that non-invasive correction was not working. A few days after my 11th birthday, I had my first surgery. Small incisions were made in my right side and four titanium screws were fused to my spine. My surgery lasted for 19 hours and, shortly after, I had a complication in which a screw came loose and nearly punctured my lung. 

A few months later, I was hopeful that I would never have to worry about my back again and everything seemed to be healing well. I was wrong. My spine was becoming worse and I required another surgery. 

At the beginning of 2004, I was anesthetized for surgery yet again. A long incision was made down my back and titanium rods were fused to my spine. This surgery was my last. Happy to be alive, I left the hospital with a some get-well teddy-bears and a fear of doctors. 

When the insecurities of teenage years set in, I hated my scars. The surgery had left me with one shoulder blade that stuck out farther than the other and very prominent lines on my back. I was always naturally skinny and in-shape, but I hated the summer for all its bikinis and backless tank-tops. 

As a left my years of teenage angst, I came to see my scars with pride. I was confident and beautiful; scars were the last of my concerns. 

Unfortunately, I broke down today, all because of a silly physical insecurity. A few days ago, as I was riding on the back of my boyfriend’s motorcycle, I burned my leg on a hot tail pipe. The wound was initially searingly painful but looked insignificant. I avoid doctors like the plague and decided to simply ignore my burn. As it swelled up and turned a strange purple-brown color, I decided to consult a pharmacist. She said it wasn’t a third-degree burn but I should definitely put aloe and gauze on my leg for a few days. She also mentioned that I would likely be left with a small scar. 

I don’t know why hearing that affected me so strangely. It’s been years since I’ve been physically insecure. I’ve learn to love my flaws and feel comfortable in my own skin. But when I heard that I would have yet another scar, an insecure little girl inside me broke down and cried. 

The media receives so much backlash for its portrayal of skinny/curvy/short/tall girls. As if these are the only flaws a body can have. I’m 5'8" and 120 pounds. Weight has never been my issue but scars have. And unlike girls with motivation and a gym membership, I can’t lose them; they will be with me forever. 

I suppose the lesson I take away from this is that we don’t reach a point of confidence and never look back. I’ve always seen it as a Buddhist like state of enlightenment, a stopping point on a long journey. But it’s not that at all. Just like in relationships with people, everyone has their ups and downs. We fight with ourselves, we want to be anyone but ourselves, but at the end of the day the most important element to being happy and confident, is learning to love ourselves– and to love our scars.