I sat in a room trying to quickly wipe the tears from my eyes so others would not notice that I was upset. All the insecurities tied to my scars that I thought I had already dealt with were bubbling to the surface. What the heck was happening to me? I was spending time as an adult volunteer at a youth camp to gain knowledge the on theology of the body to bring back to my middle school students. This was not supposed to get so personal.
As minutes turned to hours I began to realize that I was not okay and in need of healing, specifically when it came to my back. The summer before I started high school, I had back surgery to correct scoliosis. I had two curves in my back that were both about 50 degrees. My back was sliced open from my shoulders to my waist. Cartilage between my vertebrates were replaced with a bone paste created from my ribs and hip bone. Screws held two metal rods on both sides of my spine in place. The back I left grade school with was no longer the same back I started high school with.
I needed to rely on a walker because I could barely move my legs and had lost all sense of balance. Daily tasks such as tying my shoes and reaching my hands up to do my hair were impossible for weeks. I just wanted the days to quickly pass so I could start to function like other kids my age. But as I regained my ability to complete tasks on my own, a restlessness inside of me began to intensify.
I absolutely detested my back, and thus, my body. I saw myself as disfigured. On one side my ribs appeared to be large while on the other side they were mangled. I could slide my hand in the spots where ribs used to be. I was tired of struggling to find clothes that fit and would hide what I saw as a mangled body. I desperately just wanted to buy a dress or shirt like everyone else and not have to go to a seamstress. I vowed I would never wear a bathing suit again because my scars and disfigurement would be visible to the world.
One year when I was in high school, I remember telling my mom that I wanted a new back for Christmas. She had begged me to give her ideas of what gifts I wanted. I refused to say anything else, not out of defiance, but out of my true desire to have a back that did not have metal, screws and scars, or cause me pain. I wanted a new body. I wanted a body that would be seen as beautiful and not damaged.
Lingering pain
Now here I was 10 years later still crying over my body image. I began to feel a nudge in my heart that it was time to confess this hatred of my body. As I sat in the confessional and quickly rattled off my sins, I did not think the priest would say anything about the admission of failing to love myself. However, I was wrong. He had a few wise words for me, and for my penance I had to thank God for my life.
I look back at that confession as a pivotal moment in my life. The Holy Spirit was moving in a way I did not know He could move. I had put a limit on God and his grace and had simply given up hope on myself. I remember kneeling in church after that confession, thanking God for my life, and really wanting to mean it this time. I was forced to stop and reflect on everything good about my life and be grateful. This was the start of a journey for me.
New insights from TOB
I had to learn to love my body…including its scars. It was through the study of theology of the body that I discovered and accepted the fact my body, including my back, was a gift from God. My body is not something I am trapped inside of. It is not a curse, nor is it holding me back in life. My body is good and not to be disposed of. St. John Paul II stated, “The body, in fact, and only the body, is capable of making visible what is invisible: the spiritual and the divine” (TOB 19:4).
This gift which was given to me allows me to become the giver of Christ’s love to those I encounter on a daily basis.
At every Mass we are reminded of the goodness of the body when we hear the priest say “This is my body, which will be given up for you” during the Eucharistic Prayer. Just as Christ gave a gift of his whole body for us on the cross, He continues to give us his body in the Blessed Sacrament. It is through his body that we are redeemed and have abundant life. We are called to use our bodies to do the same, to give so that others may have life.
I now see beautiful scars
When I lift up my left arm I see three scars from where I had ribs taken out as well as a chest tube. Christ, too, had a wound on his side. It is from this wound that blood and water came forth as a channel of love to the world. My scars, too, have become channels of love. My suffering and scars awakened a desire to teach about the beauty and holiness of the human body, for others to see it as a unique and unrepeatable gift from God.
I do not hide my beautiful scars anymore. Just recently, my four-year-old nephew saw part of a scar at the top of my back. He saw it as a booboo, and wanting to make it better, he kissed my scar. And I was reminded of the healing God has done in my life, of all the moments his love has been like a healing kiss to my body and soul. As St. Augustine said, “In my deepest wound I saw your glory and it dazzled.” Now I see my scars as something beautiful because they have united me to Christ in an intimate way I had never known.
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