I know it may sound strange, but my scars are trying to speak to me.
And if my scars are speaking to me, these time-travelling lines of wonder and hope, should I not listen? Lie down, soothe cream across the tracks and trace the beginnings of each whisper.
Where have you been? What happened to you?
When I start to dwell in that place of itchy, broken lines, and listen, really listen, I find I am flooded with self compassion.
I have decided to talk back.
Dear scars, I am listening to you, what you say soothes me so much. You hold so much hurt and trauma. Every day you have words for me. At first, I thought you were communicating only pain; broken thoughts down broken nerves.
But you whisper of the whole journey and you bridge two worlds, hold together, stitch by stitch, the old me and the new me. Like a gold veined vase you trace the lines, the places I was cut, the site of the tumour. Of guilt and fear.
You speak softly of renewal. Of the ability we have to heal. To go full circle. To knit back together. To hold all that seemed too big to hold. You speak of the journey with such compassion. If I sit and trace the pattern of your bumps and stay soft and quiet, I can hear the honey voice, the warm voice of love.
Well done, you have been through so much, look at you now, feeling it all, line by bumpy line. Fingertips and Freedom.
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Written by Katie Murray