Pardon Me, I Forgot To Cover My Scars…

I thought I had trained myself not to be allergic to Mondays. For as long as I can remember all I have ever said was “I hate Mondays!” Yes I know, I sounded like a kid who didn’t want to get up to go to school. The adult in me insisted I not give a day of the week that much power. Well I was reminded today on why Monday is not my friend.

Take out the trash, drop clothes at the cleaner, find someone to donate the backpacks to, run by the bank and return all the phone calls I received today were all of the things I wanted to get done today. Have a lie down and binge watch Doc Martin is what I actually wanted to do. I decided to take my sidekick Gambino with me to help. Unfortunately this meant I had to put on a bra. I didn’t want to slang and bang all over the place.  I put on my beautiful blue tank and started on my journey. As we were going to the cleaners I felt the air blowing on my arm and I realized I had not bandaged my arm before I left. Panic consumed me. I even thought about turning around in 5 o’clock Atlanta traffic to go back home. I knew if I turned around I would not have ventured back out. I decided to keep going and I could hold the clothes with one arm and Gambino in the other so that no one would see it. I looked like a struggling clown trying to juggle an elephant. I basically threw the clothes on the counter and embraced Gambino like he was my shirt. The cashier wanted to play with him, I said we were in a hurry. I did not want her to get too close, nor did I want to put him down. I did not want anyone to see how HS has taken over my left underarm. It’s dark, full of scars and is also active with cysts. What if she asks me what happened? How would I explain? What if she has a look of judgement on her face and then I go the hell off because I am embarrassed? Too much to think about and too much to deal with on a Monday. We made our narrow escape.

I have been thinking about the cleaner caper all evening. About all of the anxiety and shame I had around someone seeing my arm. It really felt good to wear a tank top like a normal person and enjoy the breeze on your arm. I wasn’t able to enjoy it. I was in my own way. Who told me to be ashamed? Who said it was ugly? Who said if someone sees it they will judge me?  Moreover,  why would I care?  It’s the negative self talk we impose on ourselves spilling over into our world making us think that everyone else feels the same way. Not only is it not true, but it’s not fair to us or the people we interact with. Tomorrow is a new day and I am going to try again.

Shame is the most powerful, mater emotion. It’s the fear that we’re not good enough-Brene Brown

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