The Battle I Won
No one ever saw my scars; only you. I struggled so hard coping with the new, puffy marks on my back and down my abdomen. They represented pain. They represented never going back to who I was before the emergency surgeries. You told me they were not even noticeable. You told me that I was still beautiful even with the cuts. Somehow your words felt powerless; unable to heal the pain of a vulnerable year.
I was afraid for him to see them.
But then he saw them, and in his eyes, I saw that it wasn’t about whether I was still beautiful with forever gashes across my body. It was about the life I had to live in order to wear those scars proudly.
That’s when I realized what we were always missing; I did not need someone to call me beautiful. I needed someone to see my battle scars and know the wars I fought to be alive with them that night.
I needed someone to see me, really see me, beneath my skin and temporary home, and recognize my soul.