Embracing Scars - Learning to Live Log

Learning to Live Log

Thoughts on Cancer Survivorship and Building a Life Beyond

Embracing Our Scars

Last week my feet crunched across the stones of the battered shoreline of Pinel Island off the coast of French St. Martin. My adventurous husband and stepson were undertaking snorkeling reconnaissance in the seaweed-infested waters before I would venture in. The hurricane of 2017 forever changed the shoreline and the reefs.

The beautiful corals teeming with fish that we so enjoyed on a previous trip were choked by errant seaweed and trash. I stacked rocks and made amazing discoveries constructed by others (see photo), and in a moment, I was transported to 1981 and the shoreline of Lake Huron near the great lakes of Michigan where I was raised. The crunch of rocks underfoot took me there. Sound holds memories for me.

My relationship with the beach and water is a complex one that doesn’t fall into neatly formed categories. An early episode of near drowning mixes with the heady moments of holding my husband’s hand drifting with snorkel and mask through crystal clear waters following sea turtles. And then, there is my body. The snow-white skin that covers me was the thing of laughter in the locker room of the tanned and glamorous 1980s, causing me to retreat to the corner in an attempt to hide my knobby knees under physical education issued shorts. Swimsuits were avoided at all costs because of a large brown and crusty birthmark that served as a bullseye on my chest, the target for further humiliation by peers and even a mentor.

Now, for the 1981 memory that materialized on Pinel Island.

With Lake Huron in the background and rocks underfoot, a family member beckoned me to look at the camera while I wore an awkwardly fitted bathing suit during pre-adolescence. Snap goes the camera. Crunch go the rocks. Forever in my mind’s eye I see my desperate attempt to strike a pose and hide the birthmark with a strategically positioned arm and hand. An effort to hide in plain view. Since then, the birthmark was replaced by a large scar thanks to two surgeries and fear of melanoma. That scar was later joined by two episodes of cancer and a scar across my neck.

Learning to Live in survivorship requires us not only to acknowledge our scars, both physical and mental, but own them as a part of us – a part of our larger story. Instead of hiding our scars in desperate pre-adolescent attempts, perhaps we can see them instead as badges of courage or marks of our resilience. Much has been said by Ernest Hemingway, Leonard Cohen and others about the strength of broken places and the light that comes in from cracks. These ideas are well-known and understood. What is less understood is the deeper value of making peace with the pain and finding gratitude in each moment, scars and all. After all, the present moment is all that we have. Cancer and hurricanes teach us that.

Back at the condo in St. Martin, Pinel Island sand washed off our feet, from the balcony I could look down at the hurricane-destroyed Westin Resort complex that holds beautiful memories from our trip of five years ago. There it sat, the now abandoned corner balcony overlooking the ocean where we stayed for five days. I can see it so clearly - my husband and me, eating grapes and flipping through a photo book I made for our anniversary filled with memories of the previous year. Our second year together. Memories.

Learning to Live in survivorship requires us not only to acknowledge our scars, both physical and mental, but own them as a part of us - a part of our larger story.

The people of St. Martin taught us many things about survivorship during this recent visit. We were struck by their gratitude in the face of such loss. Their resilience is remarkable when we consider how long the rebuilding has been and how far they have to go. In the airport, upon our return, I ate over-cooked chicken wings and was struck by this sign that was posted adjacent to me:

“On September 6, 2017, with winds over 200 miles per hour and 400 miles wide, the strongest hurricane in history struck our island leaving total destruction in her wake. As a testament to the strength and resilience of our people we have constructed this bar from driftwood washed up in our backyard by monster hurricane Irma. Thank you for visiting St. Maarten/St. Martin, now have a drink and celebrate life with us.”

As survivors, a powerful lesson to learn is how to build something meaningful that would not otherwise be possible without our scars and traumatic experiences . Much like using the washed-up driftwood to form a meeting place in which to celebrate life.

Yoga has been a powerful force in my healing emotionally and physically from cancer.

A pose that I find enormously challenging but important is “Eagle” or Garudasana. A photo from the most recent St. Martin trip almost upended me today when I considered it in light of my writing about the Lake Huron experience. There I am on a beach, just last week, in eagle pose at sunset. A pose that requires trust and balance, and the ancient meaning of which is to bring focus to helping humanity fight against demons. As I studied the picture, I couldn’t help but notice that the pose requires one’s arms to cover the chest. Not unlike the Lake Huron photo, but worlds apart in their intent and meaning. Eagle requires us not to hide, but to be fully present in the moment, an effort to build something strong, meaningful, and important. Scars and all. Every last one.

As survivors, a powerful lesson to learn is how to build something meaningful that would not otherwise be possible without our scars and traumatic experiences.

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About the Learning to Live Log (LLL)

· This Log is created and written by Rebecca Palpant Shimkets, a two-time cancer survivor with an over two-decade career in mental health specializing in media depictions of mental illnesses and building programs in the domestic U.S. and internationally. The LLL is a bi-weekly email for colleagues and friends and new readers that explores mental health and post-treatment cancer survivorship. Rebecca is writing a book on the topic and you can learn more at www.survivingthebook.com. Encourage colleagues and friends to subscribe and see previous Log posts by sharing this email, visiting www.survivingthebook.com or emailing palpantr@gmail.com . Follow on social media by clicking the buttons at the bottom of this page.

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Rebecca Palpant Shimkets.

To contact via email palpantr@gmail.com or connect via social media channels.