My burn scars that I cherish
August 10, 2016
When I was eight months old, I was burned by boiling hot water and left with third degree scars on the left side of my body. The two main scars that people still tend to notice are the ones on my left arm and my left ankle, whenever I wear short sleeves and sandals.
I was at my grandmother’s house when it happened. My older sister was getting her hair braided and the finishing touches were being put on it. On the counter was a pot of boiled water that was used to keep the hair in place. I reached for the pot and the water spilled on me.
My family panicked and rushed me to the hospital. I was treated immediately with antibiotics and wrapped with bandages, but still received third degree burns — a type of burn where the outer layer of your skin and the layer beneath it is destroyed — on the left side of my leg and arm. I spent a week in the hospital.
Growing up, I was a girl with burn scars that people stared at constantly. Other kids would say things to me like, “Eww what’s that on your arm?” and “What’s that on your leg?” The scars were most noticeable in the summer. I didn’t like to wear shorts and I tried to avoid bringing attention to my skin. I got questioned so frequently about my scars that I would find myself repeating my story over and over to those who would ask.
Sometimes I would get annoyed by retelling my story so many times, but as I got older, I became very comfortable with sharing my story. As I grew up, the majority of my scars stretched out and started to blend in with my skin. Today I consider myself blessed because it could have been worse.
However, my scars are still my battle wounds. They are a beautiful trademark to me. I cherish them in my heart because they’re a part of me and they’ve shaped who I am today. My scars represent my beauty.
They helped me become comfortable in my own skin by forcing me to be open with myself and not be ashamed of what had happened to me. Of course, it took progress to get 100 percent used to having these scars.
I was angry that kids made fun of my scars, so I started scaring them by sticking my arm out and putting my scar in their faces. Eventually they stopped teasing me. As my scars stretched and faded, I felt more like a normal kid that didn’t look like I had any burns on me.
As I got older, I became more mature and my scars didn’t bother me anymore. I wasn’t ashamed of them because everything happens for a reason. Beauty within myself had defined who I was becoming with my scars. Because of that, I became more comfortable wearing shorts and short-sleeved shirts. I began to look in the mirror and tell myself that I am blessed and I am beautiful.
My father likes to joke and laugh a lot, even about my scars. Growing up, he would joke with me about my cooking skills. He would tell me to wear the cooking gloves to protect my hands and arms and we would just laugh about it. Today, I hate fire or any type of cooking grease popping on me or near me. I am not afraid to boil water but I am cautious with myself. It all leads back to me when I got burned when I was a baby.
Although my journey toward accepting my scars didn’t happen quickly, I am now able to cherish my scars. My scars are who I am. They helped me become a strong undefeated person and gave me something I can be proud of. No matter what I go through in life, I know that my scars changed my life dramatically. I know that I survived.
