We are all born with beautiful perfect souls. Clean and perfect and pure.
The second we are born, our souls start to change. Some of us have trauma at birth. Some have childhood trauma. Some just have a series of really garbage boyfriends that scar up their souls a whole lot.
I have so many scars on my soul from my public school years. I was made fun of and bullied and had my house toilet papered multiple times. I had very few friends in my childhood and I think I got through this with a lot of sports and activities and theatre and keeping myself busy.
There’s the scar from my first boyfriend at 19. Stitched together with pregnancy and labor and Andrea Bocelli on repeat. With a fumbled attempt at breastfeeding and a beautiful baby boy.
The little mark from where my heart stopped when Wolfgang’s did when he was almost 2. From his 2 weeks in the PICU. Healed by the amazing miracle that he walked out of that hospital and never had to go back.
The one from my first serious boyfriend. The one I slowly opened over the last year of our relationship and knit back together multiple times before finally ripping it open as I walked away.
There’s a physical scar on my arm. One from a cigarette. On purpose. That wound took a lot of burn gel and a steel spine to walk out of that house of horrors.
There’s the slow-to-heal wound from my last romantic relationship. The once-gaping hole that I needed to heal on my own.
That one took 5 years to mend. It was the wound I thought would kill me. Some mornings, I woke up convinced that it had killed me.
That wound was the one I slowly prepared for, but never expected. The one that felt like someone had reached into my chest and ripped out my heart through my throat. The one
The one I healed with roller derby and my first apartment with no roommates. The one I healed with endless late nights of Supernatural reruns and pretending like everything was fine.
The one I had to tear open again and again until it healed correctly, until I was whole again. Until I was myself, at long last.
Some mornings, I get to spread out my soul of many colors like a quilt and love the world a whole lot. I smile at everyone and everything is brighter and warmer.
Some mornings, I gather my soul of many colors around me, rubbing the scars and stitches like a worry doll, remembering where I’ve been and how far I’ve come.
Every day, I add a little more to the story of my life. Lots of color, some cookies, and a heap of hugs for my kids.
This post was written as a part of the NaBloPoMo, a daily blogging journey I am committing to in November 2017.