I took a well deserved break this weekend… a break from the interwebs and the texting and the connection to all of you who reside in my phone.  Instead I focused on those who share my space in a very real way… Mom and dad are back from their snow-bird summer “vacation” up in the mountains and apparently brough cooler temperatures home with them.  The weekend was still very much full with yard work and housework and making sure that everything was in order…

It was nice to have a houseful again with the dogs and extra cats and extra humans all to cook for and spend time with.  Things had gotten a bit too quiet and that’s when my mind travels to darker places.

Today’s topic is on scars… we all have them right?  I don’t know that I know a single person who doesn’t have at least one…


I’ve got matching scars on my calves where I burned my leg on the exhaust pipe of a dirt bike as a kid… twice…

I’ve got the scar where I sliced my leg open when I was 14-ish… sliced it on the license plate of mom’s car in the garage and tried to handle it myself with band-aids for a bit because by golly, I had a date that night.  Still ended up in the ER while mom made “jokes” about how she should have just called the vet because the vet had just stitched up the leg of one of the goats who had a similar injury… it would have taken less time and would have cost less…

I’ve got the scar under my chin from that time when I was little and thought I’d be cool and do a handstand in the hot tub like you do in the pool… only my chin hit the seat and… well, you get the idea…

Those are the fun scars to talk about… the tattoos with better stories about a far gone time… a time when I was more daring and willing to try anything because no one told me I couldn’t.

Those are the scars we see… the ones that show on the outside…

But what about the other scars?


The ones caused by being strong enough to survive a difficult and dark situation but always remind me of that time…

Those are the harder scars to talk about… to face… to overcome.

The scars that tell us ugly things about who we are… or at the very least, who we once were.

The scars that hold us back from being so carefree and instead tread with extreme caution…

The scars that warn us that we might again get hurt…

Those are the scars that are harder to face…. the stories harder to share… the ones that are far more important than anything visible.



Axis of Ineptitude


  1. Pardon me. I think I tripped into a different link-up dimension by accident and put an unrelated link into your line up. So sorry. But I do have a scar story, if that’ll make up for it:

    There’s a tiny knick right below my belly button to remind me of my laperoscopy. I was trying to get pregnant. It was a–not humiliating, but a lighter shade of that–kind of experience, having the outside world intrude upon something so personal. And no matter how many times you and your partner swear you will not get your hopes up in each cycle, you can’t help but get emotionally invested after each round of your legs up in stirrups. This final doctor of reproductive medicine put a camera in me to see if there was any buildup of scar tissue on my uterus. There wasn’t anything significant that he could see. This was the only part of the long drawn out process that left any visible marks on my body. The memory of that experience has long been eclipsed by a beautiful boy, my beautiful boy, who I gave birth to almost ten years ago.

    • whether by accident or divine design, I’m glad you linked up. The linky you joined is the “Axis of ineptitude” where “mistakes” are kind of our thing 🙂 I have so many friends who have been through a similar ordeal as you described. My heart goes out to you and rejoices in your beautiful boy 🙂

  2. anonymous says:

    I think I remember that 14ish incident….rings a bell. I know I was there when the goat got sewed up…..I went to the vet w/ y’all. LOL. Too funny.

    • I remember trying to scare ya by telling you just that I was at the hospital… Dad ruined my fun by sharing the rest of the story 🙂

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