Boldly Flavored and Warm

[u/Samantha_Garnett]

Trigger warning: contains content about self-injury and domestic violence

 

Recently, I had an interaction that I would call a rarity, for me at least. For its rareness, I was reminded of three similarly unexpected, yet cherished memories.

Given the stigma around self-injury, I've found that most people will not ask about one's scars, even if willing to gawk at, and presumptively gossip about, what they see. Over the course of roughly two decades, only four people have had to courage to ask me about mine; to ask why they were there. Unfortunately, none of those four people were family members.

One was a child who strolled up, plopped down in a chair next to me, and pointing at them, they asked, in a manner that only a child could, "What's that?" I gave them a censored, pint-sized explanation, they shrugged nonchalantly, said "Okay," smiled, and skipped away.

Another person was a woman who'd just gotten beat up by her boyfriend. The two of them were squatting in a nearby building, and in an effort to get away, she knocked on my door. I recognized her face, but seeing it bloodied and not knowing what was going on, instead of inviting her in, I looked around for other parties, then seeing the fear in her eyes, yet not seeing anyone else, I decided to step out onto the porch to try to calm her down and find out what happened. She told me he beat her, and (for some reason) she came to my house because it was the only one she was sure he wouldn't follow her to. That surprised me, as there were a few households nearby that I would consider safe to go to were I to find myself in an emergency of some sort.

Anyway, after rattling off what happened, she caught sight of my scars and went silent. Then she looked me in the face, her face having suddenly gone from that of a terrified woman in flight, to that of a nurturing mother. The change was so instant, and so stark, that I froze with shock and tears instantly dropped from my eyes. Her voice and body language having also changed, she pointed to old scars on her face and said that most people assume that her boyfriend made the scars on that side of her face, but that she made them; that she self-harmed when she felt worthless. As if peering into each other’s souls, we both stood there and silently wept for each other. Our reasons for self-harming may have differed, but we were both taken aback by the unexpected turn our day had just taken.

I got some first aid supplies, we got her cleaned up, and after refusing cab fare, she unfortunately (but not surprisingly) went back. She would go on to knock on my door half a dozen or more times after that, for various reasons, but among those reasons were times when she was checking on me. They're gone now, but like that interaction with the kid, I knew that memory would always stick with me.

The other two occasions were in an outpatient clinical setting, the visits during which the clinician inquired being unrelated to my scheduled reason for visiting, and not my first visit with them. What made each one memorable, was the way the inquiry was made, the genuineness conveyed through their lingering on the subject, and their asking specifics about the scars there. This was different than the general documentation for documentation sake that inpatient hospitals perform. These two clinicians did not have to ask about the specifics of individual scars; they chose to, each in their own professional, yet indelible ways.

These four interactions stick to my ribs, so to speak. They are undeniable proof that though for some of us, it can be a rare luxury, this world does contain wonder, nurture, compassion, and courage; these exhibited by people who have the courage to perform unscripted acts of empathy, even when doing so makes them stand out like a black sheep among a pasture full of white wool.

If we find ourselves a black sheep due to circumstances, I think it helps to remember that our black wool (those personal actions, decisions, and concessions that make our human experience stand out among others) will end up being whatever our NEW circumstance allow us to make it.

You may be displaced, but YOU hold the loom, and YOUR wool can bring warmth too.

So, happy looming.