Scars

Some people leave a mark on your life, some leave a scar.

There is a small indentation on the top of one of my cheeks below my eye. Over the years it has shifted and shrunk. Now as my skin ages and some lines and creases begin to appear its difficult to see. You would only know it existed if I showed you and even then you might not be able to see it. It is easily covered with make up. Erased from site but I know its there, I always know its there. I got this scar when I was a tiny infant. I don’t remember receiving the scar but I was told about it. I have been told that the scar is a bite mark. When I was month or so old I wouldn’t stop crying. In a moment of frustration my mother bit me on the cheek. The bit make left a scar. I doubt it helped the situation . For years I hated seeing it every time I looked in the mirror. Sometimes I don’t see it and sometimes it stops me cold, casting a shadow over my day. I think to myself, how did I survive? I am not even sure if the scar is still there or if I am just used to this ritual.

I have other scars on my body from the years of abuse and violence. Some have faded and some have disappeared. Some are so deep they still hurt when touched. I have scars from surgeries endured after a horrible car accident and crushed disc in my spine. Someone I love very much has scars from when they cut themselves to try and numb some of their intense emotional pain. Some scars can be seen and others only live in your mind and memories.

Some of us are brave enough to let others see our scars. Some of us have the courage to let others close enough to touch our scars. Some of us hurt to much to trust like that and we keep them hidden and shove away those who tread to close.

It took me 36 years to completely bare myself, scars and all to even the person I feel the most safe with. 36 years to trust that no matter what they saw, my partner would continue to love me and know how to respond to me in the way my broken and scarred soul needs.

These are my scars and they tell my story. A story of my survival,my struggle, and my strength. Now they also remind me of how loved I am scars and all.

Published by Genevieve Meyer

Genevieve Meyer always felt like a throwaway​ child - a lost cause that no one wanted to invest anything into. "When I was married off at 15 that feeling was solidified. People knew it was going to happen. I even asked for help - a place to live, someone to intervene - but no one rescued me. I was just a 'poor white trash girl' with a difficult, mentally-ill mother and no one gave my being married off to a 42-year-old man a second thought." Child marriage is currently legal in all but one state in the U.S. The repercussions of this reality are real - domestic violence, inability to complete education, lack of job skills - all leading to being trapped in the marriage. Meyer has lived in the Fort Wayne area for 14 years. She recently earned her MBA, following completion of an undergraduate degree at Purdue Fort Wayne. She manages a mental health facility in Fort Wayne which helps children and their families heal from trauma. Driven by her own story of trauma, she works to advocate and educate about the harmful effects of child marriage. She lives in the country with her husband of 12 years, and together they are raising 4 children and several animals.

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