[featured on Perissos 2/29/16]
At eight years old I overheard a woman say an Arabian prince could only choose a woman with no scars to be his princess. I was devastated. I had scars from mosquito bites, chicken pox, bike accidents, and scraping my feet in Gramma’s big cement pool. I also had a belly button, and wondered if those princes were smart enough to realize that everyone had at least one scar. Did the holes from getting our ears pierced count?
I’m an almost albino redhead. I’ve had eight suspicious moles removed. The first one was near my right breast. I was 20, and the plastic surgeon named, I kid you not, Dr. Scarzella, said he didn’t want to do the surgery because the scar might hinder intimacy with my partner. I was not even close to being sexually active, but I somehow had enough sense of self to say, “well, I don’t think I’m going to be intimate with any guy who couldn’t handle a scar on my boob.” He laughed and patted my shoulder. I had a moment of feminist pride, but I was thinking of that prince. I was definitely out of the running now.
Continue reading here…
- Wrecked – How pain has changed my life.
- What I Did Over Summer Vacation – How pain led me to poor choices.
- Bullies – How shame takes over. It shouldn’t. But it does.
You are loved.
©Aimee Fritz & Family Compassion Focus, 2016.