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Insecurities are a form of destruction. They have us doing, saying, believing and trusting things we shouldn’t. Uncertainty will have us on a mission for validation that may sometimes prove to be insincere. It’ll have us recreating who we are, to acquire what we feel we need. Doubt will have us facing unwarranted emotions and heart stopping anxiety. It’ll even have us loving what’s not good for us. No one wants to be insecure, but we all suffer from it one way or another. How you cure your insecurity is what matters.

A big part of my life has been accepting my flaws and demolishing my insecurities – or at least attempting to. From the age of six, I have collected multiple surgical scars due to injury and health reasons. I have what feels like a ton of cellulite and my baby hairs along my hairline love to stand up and so far no amount of hair product has been able to tame them.

Just have to deal with them, you know?

When I had a knee reconstruction back in 2011, I thought I was going to wake up to a single scar. Instead, I woke up to five. Although they’re considered neat, it has taken me quite some time to flaunt them. They are horrifying. When the whole ripped jeans thing became a big trend, I specifically ripped my holes on the side that reflected my good knee so I could hide my scars. I went through stages of melting in the heat just to cover my scars and to be honest, it was tiring.

Learning to love my scars took time. Eventually they became invisible to my conscience and I only really notice them when a mosquito decides to bite within a close proximity of a scar – they’re too sensitive to scratch. Sexual intercourse in daylight was by far the biggest hurdle I’ve had to overcome in relation to my imperfections. No male has ever pointed them out yet, but I am partially dreading the day that those questions are asked. My injury prone lifestyle as a child isn’t exactly the biggest turn on.

I have a scar on my left shin.

I have five scars on my left knee.

I have a scar on my right elbow.

I have a scar on my stomach.

I have a scar on my back.

I have a scar under my left eyebrow.

I have a scar on my left bicep.

These scars aren’t going to disappear and although they are imperfections, they are my imperfections but they don’t define me. Well, maybe my knee does, depending on its pain level. Heck, I can struggle to walk some days and other days I feel like tumbling down the flights of stairs at work would be an easier option than painfully walking down. To this day, I have still never used my scar as an excuse to obtain a seat on the train because in my mind, that would be allowing my scar to define me. I would be known as a cripple.

But my scars don’t define me.
Learning to embrace my insecurities and imperfections was challenging but they make for several tiny chapters within my life.

Just some tiny chapters within a very big story.

Love thy scars.

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