Guest Blog: @KristianNorman writes
I’m a very keen swimmer; if truth be told, these days I’m far more comfortable in water than I am on land! For me the sense of freedom I feel in a swimming pool goes deeper than the sensation of weightlessness and the benefits of impact-free exercise; being in public with the more than three yards of surgical scars that criss-cross their way around my body exposed is a completely liberating experience, one that’s literally helped me to feel comfortable within my own skin. Let me explain…
After a seven year battle with ME (Myalgic Encephalomyelitis) forced an extremely sedentary lifestyle upon me, by the age of 18 I had become morbidly obese. Following a strict regime of diet and exercise for 18 months helped me to make a full physical recovery and left me 9 stone lighter, but while this weight loss was a fantastic achievement with obvious health benefits, it brought with it an unexpected and extremely unwelcome complication. Stretched beyond recognition by my former obesity, my permanently damaged skin hung limply from my body in loose, sagging folds that left me disfigured from my neck down to my knees and in a great deal of discomfort.
Over the last ten years I’ve had extensive reconstructive surgeries to remove redundant skin and tissue from my chest, stomach, ribcage, back, buttocks, groin and legs, and face further operations in the future. Surgery like this is a trade-off; where damaged skin is removed it leaves extensive surgical scarring in its wake, something I became acutely self-conscious about following the initial operations at the beginning of this reconstructive process. While my surgical outcomes have well exceeded my expectations, in the early stages of my recovery and rehabilitation I still didn’t feel like a “normal” person.
Seeing other lads in the pool with their smooth, tight, scar-free skin would make me ache for the body I would never have, no matter how many miles I swam or how many operations and gruelling recovery periods I endured. I would dash from the locker room to the pool with a towel hooked under my arms to hide the scars on my abdomen and chest; I would avoid making eye contact with people, and in the locker room afterwards I would do my best to get changed when nobody was around to avoid the inevitable stares that my scars would attract.
If you’d told me back then that one day I’d be rocking my scars poolside in a skimpy pair of Speedos I’d have flat-out called you a liar; I never believed it was possible that I could feel as comfortable in my damaged skin as I do today. And yet my scars haven’t miraculously vanished; I still have all the same “flaws” that used to draw my focus in the mirror all those years ago, so what’s changed? Simple, really: I no longer regard them as flaws.
In the early stages of my surgical journey I chose to embrace my differences and do my best to be proud of my scars. Instead of regarding them as ugly red marks that streaked across my skin, I wore them like badges of honour – they were an outward sign of my inner strength, proof that I had survived what life had thrown at me. Embracing how I looked on the outside helped me to love and accept the person I was on the inside – I began to regard myself as a victor in a fight against adversity, rather than as a victim of unfortunate circumstance.
Rather than hiding my scars I chose to confront them head-on by forcing myself to bare them publicly for all to see. I made no attempts to cover my body at the pool, and in the summer I walked topless down the street with my head held high. Small achievements, perhaps, but each little victory chipped away at the fear that my visible differences would stop me from doing “normal” things.
Naturally, my scars did (and still do) attract attention, but learning to deal with other people’s reactions to them became an important part of my process of self-acceptance. Sometimes people would say unkind things, or whisper amongst themselves as I walked past, but I was determined not to let their ignorance determine how I lived my life. If they had a problem with how I looked, then so what? Would they have been brave enough to show their imperfections to the world if they were in my shoes? Probably not; I was the strong one, not them, so why should I let their narrow-minded opinions stop me from living and, most importantly, enjoying my life?
Of course, I haven’t always felt like this; in the beginning when someone would stare or ask bluntly if I’d been in an accident I would take their curiosity as a personal insult, but gradually over time I learned to react less defensively, and explain what had happened to me instead. Talking to strangers about my experiences became almost therapeutic; most people’s reactions to my honesty were very positive, and showed me that my scars weren’t the huge barrier between myself and “normal” people that I’d imagined them to be. Being upfront about my visible differences helped me to reclaim the control that they’d previously held over my self-esteem; they were, and still are, part of what made me who I am today. I’m damn proud of them, and I wouldn’t change a thing.
