A neighbor kid hit my car with his bicycle. Damage had been done, and I was at the auto body shop getting an estimate to get it repaired. The owner of the shop (Arturo) and I got along famously, and he offered to repair an unrelated scratch on my car for free. I politely declined. On my way out of the auto body shop, Arturo called after me: “think about whether or not you’ll let me fix that scratch for free. . . it would be my pleasure!”
I turned back to him, smiled a wistful little smile, and told him that I’d think about it.
Back in my car, I leaned my head back on the headrest and just breathed. I stayed that way for probably a good five minutes.
Why could I not say “yes” to his generous offer to fix that deep scratch on my car? Why did I immediately refuse it? I wasn’t even willing to entertain his offer!
Hmm.
His offer makes me nervous.
Not because it is a gift or an act of kindness.
No, what makes me nervous is getting rid of Trudy’s scar.
It was there before I bought her. Trudy, by the way, is my 2012 Toyota Prius V. One look at her at the Toyota dealership, and I was in love! Everything about her was perfect: the color, the interior, the gas mileage, the roominess. . . exactly what I was looking for in my new car.
Then Jamie (my significant other) said, “hey, she’s got a scratch on her.” Sure enough, there on top of the front left panel next to the hood, was a deep scratch, branching off into a bit of a “y” shape as it descended.
I didn’t care. In fact, it only made me love this car even more. And when the dealership offered to fix the scratch, I refused. I wanted her just as she was.
Immediately, I knew my cars name would be Trudy because of the scar.
Yes, “Trudy”, after Trudy Campbell from Mad Men.
Not a frequent character on the show, but one whose character arc was truly beautiful. Here was an intelligent, well-off, classy woman, who marries a man she loves. She does everything she can to be a faithful and supportive spouse to her husband, Pete Campbell. Pete. . . well, let’s just say he does not exactly do the same. And their marriage falls apart in a painful way. Through it all, however, Trudy keeps herself together with dignity and grace. And at the end of the show, when Matthew Weiner is tying up all the storylines, it is Trudy’s storyline that brings me the most joy. She bears the scars on her heart of the pains from her past, yet the last time we see her on the show she has gorgeously flowered and gloriously owns her life.
In her last scene, as she strides joyfully from the limousine across the tarmac to a learjet just for her and her restored family, about to whisk them all away to a new chance to be happy and a new lease on life, she touches something deep inside of me. In spite of all the shit the show has put her through, she thrives. No, she shines.
I love Trudy.
So when Arturo offered to remove Trudy’s scar, it made me nervous. Would Trudy still be Trudy to me without it?
Can we truly let go of our scars and still be us?
If we allow the scars to heal and disappear, what does that say about ourselves? Who do we become?
My front tooth broke when I was in elementary school, a result of a pretty gnarly bicycle accident. My parents never actually got the tooth repaired, but instead had the dentist put a temporary patch to protect the exposed and broken enamel. Over the years, that dead tooth – which is at the front of my smile, remember – colored into something darker than the rest of my smile.
You can see what I mean here in this picture of me with my nephew, Jake:
For a long time, I’ve resisted getting this tooth fixed. After all, this is who I am. I have a dead tooth. My parents never fixed it. Why should I cover it up? It would be “fake” of me to cover it up.
At the same time, every time I smile for a picture I experience a little bit of pain in my heart. That tooth, which doesn’t look so dark in person, turns into something much more visible in a picture. And for a long time, it affected my willingness to smile. Nowadays, I smile regardless, but I think there’s a big part of me who needed to learn from this experience of having an imperfect tooth-smile to learn how to have a huge heart-smile.
I know I’ve learned this lesson. I know it’s a part of me. So what is the value now in keeping my broken tooth?
What is the value in keeping our scars visible?
If – not when but if – we allow ourselves to be healed, what does that mean for the pain that brought the scar forth in the first place? Those instances contribute greatly to who we are now. If the contribution has already been made, do we need to keep the scar?
Our scars remind us of what we’ve gone through. Some of mine are visible, like that tooth. Many of mine, however, are invisible. My heart is a lattice-work of scars accumulated over a lifetime. Some are pretty superficial, while a select few go right to the core. Without those experiences – and I don’t need to name them, just as you don’t need to name yours to know they are there – I would not be who I am today.
And perhaps there was a time where I needed to keep those scars. I needed to remind myself that these things did happen, that I wasn’t crazy or making things up. I needed my scars to ground myself in the truth of those experiences and what they have done to me.
Except now the truth has changed.
Now my truth has changed.
I no longer see myself in the same way as I did back then when the wounds were fresher and each scar was like a word etched into my heart: “victim”.
It’s so hard to fathom that I used to view myself as powerless and a victim. My scars used to reinforce this, remind me of this. I could wrap myself up in a blanket of pain and my heart could cry out in anger “YOU did this to me!”, shaking its fist . . . well, anywhere. At the skies, at those who created those deep carvings in my heart, at myself.
I used to.
If I reflect inside to my heart now, even those old scars have faded away into smooth, healthy, strong muscle. I’d say my heart looks like they were never there, except that wouldn’t be correct. My heart looks healed. When I imagine the emotional heart inside of my chest, it is as bright and joyful and full of hope and possibility as Trudy Campbell is on her way to the next stage of life for her and her family.
My scars have served their purpose, and now I can let them go. Without even realizing it, I’ve let them go. They’ve simply fallen away, like the dried chrysalis of a caterpillar after it’s transformed into a butterfly.
Can you imagine if butterflies flew about, carrying their dried-up old chrysalises with them wherever they went? Come on, that would be just plain silly! Butterflies let their chrysalises fall away after they emerge, because that protective container has served its purpose and is not needed any more.
They let them fall. . . and they are just fine.
Perhaps it’s time for Trudy’s scar to fall away as well. After all, I don’t even know the story behind that scratch. It was there before I bought the car. But it has served its purpose. It helped me see that a thing of beauty with an imperfection is made all-the-more beautiful in my eyes for it. It reminded me that our scars make us stronger and more glorious in this world for the experiences they provide for us. . . rather than the marks they leave behind.
When I see Arturo on Monday to get the repairs done from the neighbor kid’s accident, I’ll say thank you and that I’d love for him to fix that existing scratch.
After all, it has served its purpose. . . and Trudy will always be Trudy to me.
What scars are ready to fall away for you?
I cannot wait to see what you draw forth,
