I am scarred, but you would not know it to look at me.
Scars from childhood, scars from now and then.
The little scars on my fingers where I childishly broke a door window during my first "real" babysitting job (I got locked out of the house with the two little girls inside sleeping--I was 11). They are small scars, but they are there.
Scars on my forehead from when I had chicken pox twice (!). Hidden by my hair, but there they are.
Scars from my C-Sections, hidden yet the most rewarding scars I could have.
And then there are the real hidden scars. Scars from years of want and heartbreak. Scars that heal with time but yet are there. Scars that are hard to explain unless you have been down the path I have.
The scars that people do not see. That I cannot tell them because the wounds are old, and I feel that I am lucky and should be thankful and should put those things into the past. But yet, even as I heal from those scars...I can be touched by those feelings of old. And like a scab being removed...those wounds open up yet again.
The scars that people do not know.
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