Despite what many people think, I’m not strictly a “prissy” chick. All my life I’ve been into my hair and makeup, because I love feeling “put-together”, and for me, that means curls and blush. I’m not fully tomboy either, but I can get down and dirty with the best of them. I have the scars to prove it. My mother often referred to me as a “tough lil boot” and that nickname would prove to be true all through my adult life.
I was four when I literally ran into the butt of a glass Coke bottle that one of my cousins was carrying and I still have the small scar under my right eye. I have a scar on the left side of my face that is the result of horsing around with an ex-boyfriend. As I was getting out the bath last night, the long scar on my right shin that I got when I was moving back to Louisiana after my divorce jumped out at me. I chuckled because I remember plainly that when I cut my leg, it bled profusely, but I never even stopped to clean or bandage the wound. It’s ugly. We were moving at an incredible clip with the packing efforts and I wasn’t going to let anything slow me down.
All my life, I’ve had an incredibly high tolerance for physical pain. There have only been two times when I actually expressed physical pain. The first was when I gave birth to an 8 lb., 22 in. future linebacker and the second was when I had the brain hemorrhage. While I was in the hospital for the hemorrhage, I screamed A LOT in the beginning, but after a while, the doctors became doubly alarmed because I had stopped yelling out in pain. Just like I had learned to shut down when I was in pain mentally and emotionally, I shut down any expression of my physical pain as best I could that day.
Mentally and emotionally, I was numb and very little affected me in any manner during nearly all of the 19 years I was married. The scars to my psyche run much deeper than any of the physical ones I bare. The scar tissue is some of the toughest imaginable for the longest time, I thought it was impenetrable. I was able to block out anything that caused me any kind of pain except where it concerned Will.
I had ridden the mental and emotional rollercoaster for so long that I didn’t know which way was up.
Because my ex-husband had spent so much time telling me that I was worthless, I struggled when it came to accepting my own self-worth. I was broken in every sense of the word. The scar tissue that had built up following all those mental and emotional blow was like a 10-foot tall, concrete wall. It took unceasing prayer, intense counseling, the relentless help of family and friends, and the desire to escape the hell I lived in to break that wall down.
Because he gave compliments to other women well before he would even offer me the slightest one, I struggled with the thought that I was attractive in any way. It took years for me to even want to look in the mirror, and while I am by no means conceited or arrogant, I now accept the fact that I look pretty damned good.
In order to accept your own self-worth, you have to get it into your head that you’re worth every single thing in this world. You have to understand that regardless of where you are in life, you are capable of improving your situation and bettering yourself. You have to understand that your happiness and your greatness depends on no one but you. You have to understand that only the weakest people spend time destroying others. Know that you don’t have to allow anyone to damage you because of their own lack of self-love. Life is incredibly short. Live it on purpose.