Words as band-aids

February 29th, 2012 (leap year-so weird)

            On the girl’s brown legs there were many small white scars. I was

            thinking, Do those scars cover the whole of you, like the stars and

            moons on your dress? I thought that would be pretty too, and I ask

            you right here to please agree that a scar is never ugly. That is what

            scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agree-

            ment to defy them. We must see all the scars as beauty. Okay? This

            will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on

            the dying. A scar means, I survived.

                                                -from “Little Bee: A Novel” by Chris Cleave

I read this book recently and I will never forget this passage. Written in the voice of a young, female refugee whose character I fell in love with. I also recently read the book, "The Help," and saw the movie and these two works of historical fiction (my favorite genre of book) struck me. 

"You is kind. You is smart. You is important."

They have me thinking about scars, both emotional and physical, and how words from kind people in our life can help us heal. Or the words we tell ourselves. 

We all have scars, some are deep down and we barely notice them at all anymore; some are right on the surface and you look at them every day. I love the first passage. It will change the way I look at physical scars forever. Though sometimes the emotional scars that come with those outward physical scars are the ones that need the healing. 

I have very few scars on my body. I have a scar above my left eyebrow from when I had the chicken pox as a child. I have a scar on my right thumb from slicing it open on an enormous can of hot fudge when I worked at the DQ in high school. And I have four scars on my abdomen. One from my cesarean section and most recently three from the laproscopic removal of my right fallopian tube and my babe. Most of the time I do not notice them at all anymore, they are hidden. As are the emotional scars. Most of the time, I don't notice those either. It has been two months since my surgery and I have been feeling pretty upbeat for the majority of the time. 

I meet women every day who are newly  pregnant or having babies and I'm fine. I like it. I like caring for women during their childbearing years. I am also okay at counseling women who want to terminate a pregnancy. I can, for the most part, hold it together when I am talking to someone who has recently found out about a miscarriage, though these are the ones that make me well up with tears. The women I feel a special connection with. I hope that my words to them during their time of suffering provide some sort of emotional band-aid or salve to help them heal. 

I have written about how much words can sting an emotional wound. Unintentionally, many people say things that feel like lemon juice upon your recent cut. But words can also help us heal. Simple words,  quiet words, peaceful words. Sometimes friends give me word band-aids. Sometimes authors give us all word band-aids. Sometimes perfect strangers give us word band-aids. 

Thank you to my friends and family for the word band-aids. The salve on my aching heart. The cool compress on my raging anger.