How I Came to Self Acceptance During Lockdown
Each year, in the USA, Canada, Western Europe, and Australia combined, roughly 75 million people gain a surgical scar from any number of emergency, elective or cosmetic procedures. They come in all shapes and sizes and most people will have at least one at some point in their lives. For a lot of people, they cause some degree of self-consciousness, particularly if they are in a visible spot on the body, and I was certainly no exception as a teenager.
In July 2006, I had a hole in the wall of my heart closed. I now have a scar that is over a foot long down the centre of my chest and, at the time, it was red and extremely visible even over the top of a shirt. For a long time, it wasn’t so much the scar but the story behind it that bothered me. It wasn’t something I wanted to talk about. I felt like people felt entitled to know about what a difficult and nerve-wracking time for me it was (although I was only six), and it made me conscious of myself in a way that I hadn’t been before.
It took a long time for that feeling to go away. It wasn’t until I was around fifteen or so - almost ten years after the operation - that I felt able to talk about it casually. Typically, no one now asks me about it in quite the same way as they did when I was a child. It seems the right to privacy comes into existence only in adulthood. Regardless, I am now happy to talk about it and I have lost all self-consciousness about it.
It has been a part of my body for so long that I have grown up almost forgetting that it is not something that everyone has. I will happily wear a swimsuit at the beach, and I wouldn’t think twice about wearing a top that shows it. I am surprised when people ask what it is or stare, not because it embarrasses me, but because I wonder what reason they could possibly have for doing so. I have noticed two things simultaneously about this as I have gotten older. The first is that my surgical scar bothers me very little, if at all. The second is that it bothers others a great deal. Not just that, but it bothers others that it doesn’t bother me. In my experience, people are generally disappointed when you are not self-conscious about surgical scars.
At school, while changing for PE at the tender age of eleven, a friend - who I had known for all of a few months - asked me if I’d had a breast enlargement. I couldn’t fathom why she would ask me this - we were, I should say, having a conversation about the origins of the scar, she didn’t just say it apropos of nothing - and I saw that it flustered her hugely to ask the question. School changing rooms - the one place where much of your body is regularly exposed - are particularly difficult for people with scars that affect their confidence. One person that I spoke to (who I have kept anonymous) said that they have faced similar struggles, receiving ableist insults and comments.
I have seen how this lack of self-consciousness has baffled others around me, even people I am close to. Multiple people that I was close with, both at school and outside of it (and I won’t say who for their privacy) have asked me if I mind having it, but they were never satisfied with my answer. I would always say no. They would always reply with ‘really?’ There was enough scepticism, enough implication that I ought to be conscious of it still, that I almost questioned myself. It takes a lot of work, internally, to get rid of the self-consciousness that comes with having an obvious surgical scar, not least because they almost inevitably prompt prying questions about what may have been a traumatic experience. A friend with similar experiences summed this up very well: ‘people just don’t realise that there’s a story behind every scar and sometimes by making remarks it can bring back the trauma of them’.
A Facebook contact, Amelia Francesca, kindly agreed to talk to me about her experiences with this issue. She told me that she initially considered not having surgery near her throat because of the thought of having a large scar on her neck. As with me, she said that it took a long time for to stop feeling self-conscious about it: ‘I started to view it differently when I was talking to my sister one night and she told me that I shouldn’t be fearful or conscious of what people might say because it’s a journey about bravery and faith and no one can take that away from me - I can change the narrative by being less affected by it because I can’t change what had to be done. I started being a little less conscious about it and realised that I was mostly overly conscious about it when others didn’t really seem to think it was that much of a big deal. When my friends or acquaintances ask about it, I notice a shift in my attitude where I was more positive and willing to share what happened because there is no shame in what happened.’
Amelia has come to the same realisation that I have, where our surgical scars can exist without any special importance, except that which we give it. We both seem to accept that people will always look at and ask about scars, especially big ones, so getting rid of self-consciousness about them lies with us. When I became able to talk about my scar and what had caused it, I felt that others noticed it less.
My ultimate point is this: surgical scars mean a lot to some people. They can be signs of survival and of strength. But for others, they are just marks on the skin, with no meaning beyond that. And that is okay. Not everyone with even a large surgical scar is deeply self-conscious or even ashamed of it. Equally, not everyone wants to shout their story from the rooftops or tell it to relative strangers in school changing rooms. It can take a lot of time, effort, and personal change to be able to show a scar and talk about it. Most people who are in a position to do so were not in that position when they first had it. Surgical scars are deeply personal so, wherever you or someone you know is in the process of accepting them, it’s okay.
A huge thank you to Amelia Francesca and Rianna for their input. Names have been approved for publication or shortened to protect identity.
Written by Charlotte Goodger
I am a final year English and Creative Writing student at the University of Birmingham, working part-time in digital marketing for a start-up in Birmingham. I mostly write on women’s issues and history, although I love reviewing books as well. In my free time, I love to read and I’ve recently taken up yoga.