essay about beautiful scars

• Frequently Asked Questions
• Helpful Free Resources
• Happiness & Fun
• Healthy Habits
• Love & Relationships
• Mental Health
• Mindfulness & Peace
• Purpose & Passion
• Fun & Inspiring
• Submit a Post
• Books & Things
• Tiny Buddha’s Breaking Barriers to Self-Care

“Because of your smile, you make life more beautiful.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

Beauty is a concept I struggle with—what it means, why it matters. I struggle because huge chunks of my life have not been beautiful. They have been ugly, marred by trauma, with pain, and anger .

We think of beauty and often visualize glossy magazine pages and wafer thin models. We see beauty as superficial—eye color, hair texture, and numbers on a scale. We see beauty as something to be measured and weighed.

I don’t see beauty that way. I see beauty as the grace point between what hurts and what heals, between the shadow of tragedy and the light of joy. I find beauty in my scars.  

We all have scars, inside and out. We have freckles from sun exposure, emotional trigger points, broken bones, and broken hearts.

However our scars manifest, we need not feel ashamed but beautiful.

It is beautiful to have lived, really lived, and to have the marks to prove it. It’s not a competition—as in “My scar is better than your scar”—but it’s a testament of our inner strength.

It takes nothing to wear a snazzy outfit well, but to wear our scars like diamonds? Now that is beautiful.

Fifteen years ago, I would have laughed at this assertion.

“Are you crazy?” I’d say, while applying lipstick before bed. I was that insecure, lips stained, hair fried by a straightening iron, pores clogged by residue foundation, all in an attempt to be different from how I naturally was, to be beautiful for someone else.

I covered my face to hide because it hurt to look at myself in the mirror. I was afraid my unbeautiful truth would show somehow through my skin—that people would know I had been abused, that I as a result was starving myself, harming myself in an effort to cope. I was afraid people would see that I was clinging to life by a shredding thread.

Now? I see scars and I see stories. I see a being who has lived, who has depth, who is a survivor. Living is beautiful. Being a part of this world is beautiful, smile-worthy, despite the tears.

Beauty isn’t a hidden folder full of Kate Moss images for a kid dying to forget and fit in, a lifted face, a fat injected smile, or six-pack abs. It is the smile we are born with, the smile that sources from the divine inside, the smile that can endure, even if we’ve been through a lot.

Emotional pain is slow to heal, as I have been slow to heal. My healing started with a word I received as a birthday gift. It was a photograph my friend took of a forest, the word “forgive” painted in pink on a stone. I didn’t understand why that word meant something until I really started to think about it.

I blamed myself for so long for things that weren’t my fault. Life stopped being beautiful to me, I stopped feeling beautiful inside, and my smile stopped shining beauty out into the world.

I think in order for us to make life beautiful we need to feel our smiles as we feel our frowns. 

For so long, I only honored only my pain and my sorrow. I lost my smile, less because of the trauma and more because I spent so much time lamenting my scars.

When I decided they were beautiful, I became beautiful. When I took power away from the negative emotions , my unchangeable traumatic past, I was better able to find joy in the present.

How did I do this?

First, I made a soul collage, a board for the life of my dreams. I pasted onto the poster magazine images that depicted things I see as myself and want for myself. It became a beautiful visual guide for what matters to me beyond the superficial.

This board reminds me to honor who I am in essence, who I was before anything bad happened to me, before I believed anything was wrong with me. This board provides me with a path of beauty through the scars.

Secondly, I found the book The Why Café , by John P. Strelecky. He encourages readers to pinpoint their PFE (purpose for existence). While reading, I realized beauty is my PFE. My purpose is to make whatever I can beautiful. Not beautiful in the superficial sense but in the smile of the heart and soul sense. Thus far, it’s working.

Sometimes all it takes for your life to change is a shift in perspective, one solitary action, one solitary word, and everything is different—an action like a smile, a word like forgive.

Take a moment now to smile. Do you feel it in your muscles?  In your skin?  In your toes?  Where do you feel happiness?

When bad things happen, we don’t instinctively feel happy and beautiful, but we don’t need to despair because life gets ugly sometimes. Joy and beauty are everywhere, in everything, in every one of us—no matter how we look, and no matter how we may hurt temporarily.

Grace is beauty in motion and we can create it by choosing to smile—to recognize that we’re strong, despite our insecurities, and the world is an amazing place, despite its tragedies.

We may hurt, but we will heal—and there’s beauty in our scars.

Photo by Delphine Divos

About Alexandra Heather Foss

Alexandra Heather Foss is a freelance writer whose writing has been featured on Tiny Buddha and in The New York Times.  What time is not spent creating word art is spent with divine nature—of herself, other, cosmos, and this special planet we call home. Visit her on Facebook and  on Pinterest here .

Did you enjoy this post? Please share the wisdom :)

Related posts:

Free Download: Buddha Desktop Wallpaper

Recent Forum Topics

• Feeling depressed and sad..and the wounds are still fresh
• About gutted
• Partner is upset at me.
• Help Me Be Better, I Cheated A Few Times and Regretted It All
• Oh! Life you are complicated.
• Workplace Manipulator
• Breaking up difficulty
• Help with Relationship
• Stuck between stay or go… advice and personal experiences needed,
• Ex back in the picture after 3 years

Fun & Inspiring

When Someone Spews Something Really Hurtful

GET MORE FUN & INSPIRING IMAGES & VIDEOS .

Latest Posts

Insights and Advice from a Former People-Pleaser

How to Get to the Amazing Life on the Other Side of Your Fears

3 Simple Words to Help You Feel Present, Grounded, and Nourished

How I Broke Free from My Toxic Need to Achieve

Hope for the Grieving: You Will Make It Through

This site is not intended to provide and does not constitute medical, legal, or other professional advice. The content on Tiny Buddha is designed to support, not replace, medical or psychiatric treatment. Please seek professional care if you believe you may have a condition.

Tiny Buddha, LLC may earn affiliate income from qualifying purchases, including from the Amazon Associate Program.

Before using the site, please read our Privacy Policy and Terms of Use .

Click to opt-out of Google Analytics tracking.

Who Runs Tiny Buddha?

Get More Tiny Buddha

•   Twitter
•   Facebook
•   Instagram
•   Youtube
•   RSS Feed

Credits & Copyright

• Back to Top

Beautiful Scars

Whenever I try to reflect of how my life has been going, tears never fail to fall from my eyes.

On my perspective: life is not at its best state for the past months. Life has not been good to me. Life shows its unpleasant side all at once.

Everything fell apart, including the people i love(d), the things i enjoy, and ME.

But what i realized— life needs to hurt me at times in order to let me grow and accept that not all things should come perfectly as planned. It is not going to be what you thought it would be. It will destroy, break and scar you first.

And if you are strong enough, you shall overcome.

Life needed to hurt me so bad (this 'so bad' is very real that i feel like crying every time i remember how this felt like) in order to make me understand that life does not end nor break in just one chapter of my book.

My wounds shall heal.

These scars shall be forgotten.

So to you, go on and live. There are greater things waiting for us. 

View the discussion thread.

C 2019 Voices of Youth. All Rights Reserved. 

• Burns Are Beautiful: F...

Burns Are Beautiful: Five Survivors on Scars and Self Love

Written  on  October 28, 2019

As a child, Abby Fisk searched for images of burn survivors proudly displaying scars that looked like hers. She found hope and healing through photoshoots of actor J.R. Martinez, advocate Kiki Vo, and more.

At 17, her journey came full circle when she embraced her scars with a photoshoot of her own. She wants to show the world that there is beauty in her strength, beauty in her courage, and beauty in her scars.

Inspired by Abby’s story, Phoenix Society asked five burn survivors about scars and self-love. They shared their stories of resilience, acceptance, and inspiration.

Here’s what burn survivors know about beauty:

It's in all of us..

 “My path to accepting my scars has not been easy. For years, I didn’t like to look in the mirror. I didn’t see myself. I finally started saying to my reflection: “This is me. I am still me. I am beautiful.”

It helped most to find something I did before my fire. Something I did before and I can do now. Whether it is photography, riding a bicycle, painting, or writing. Something I do all by myself. Something that makes me feel good about this beautiful world— and myself.

Some days, I love myself. Other days, I struggle just like everyone else. Anxiety and depression are a constant battle in my life, but I know I’m not alone. I’m confident I can get through the day because I am a survivor. I’m here for a purpose: to make a difference and help those I can.

A fire may have changed my appearance, but it didn’t change my ability to love life. Beauty is everywhere. It’s all around us, and it’s in all of us. And it’s up to us how much beauty we share with the world.”

It starts with a smile.

“ Self-love is a must for me. I don’t function well without it. What makes me beautiful is wearing a smile every day the sun meets my face. Sometimes I feel like I’m in a cartoon with red hearts popping all around me!

I have no struggles when it comes to living as a burn survivor. I had to accept who I was and quick if I really wanted to live. And I must say – the Phoenix Society played a vital role in who I am. My confidence is on a high and I don’t let no one get in the way!

Beauty is having a beautiful soul that manifests on the outside. The most beautiful people I’ve met are those with scars. Be confident. Be strong. Be proud of the skin you’re in. Never forget to smile – it heals all wounds. And no matter what,  be you .”

It's accepting your scars — but not letting them define you.

“In middle school, I was made fun of because of my scars. By getting involved with my community’s burn program, I discovered I was on a journey that would contain highs and lows of learning to process my negative thoughts.

Phoenix World Burn Congress showed me tools to pick myself up again. I also found healing in my faith and discussing my experiences with other burn survivors. Still, I have days where I feel confident and empowered —and days when negative thoughts creep in and make me feel insecure.

I had to learn how to accept my scars, but not let them define me as an individual. This taught me how to truly, unconditionally love myself.

Beauty is loving yourself for the qualities you like and the flaws you’d like to work on. It’s being uniquely yourself and not letting the pressures of the world tell you who to be. Beauty is overcoming the tragedy of our burn injuries and living a fulfilled life.”

—  Orrealus

It looks a lot like resilience.

“Accepting my scars began with shaping my reality into what I wanted it to be. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t automatic. It was a choice, to grow stronger and rise above the ashes.

Growing up, I learned what the word “resilience” meant: getting up and moving forward despite obstacles. Yes, hello!  That  is how I define myself.  That  is what makes me feel confident.

You can be your greatest cheerleader or your worst enemy. For example, I was so concerned about my first serious partner seeing me without makeup. I remember so clearly closing my eyes and thinking, “Just be yourself.” To me, it was a huge deal; to him, it didn’t make a difference. To him, I was beautiful with or without make up.

Little by little, I became less guarded. I began to state that I am enough, I am loved, I am beautiful.

I think beauty is a state of mind. Loving yourself brings freedom to try new things, dream big, and plan your future. Freedom to fail and try again—this is a beautiful thing. Fear doesn’t completely go away, but your love and courage will be stronger.”

It's seeing your body as a masterpiece.

“I feel like my burns are small compared to many survivors, but I still struggled with my self-esteem after being burned. I struggled being stared at. I struggled answering questions.

When you see scars on your own body, they are imperfections, another thing to be self-conscious about. But when you see scars proudly displayed in paintings or photos , they’re art. They’re authentic, they’re intricate, they're beautiful—and suddenly they aren't flaws anymore. 

The moment you begin to see your  own  scars as art, everything changes.

I was once an insecure girl: ashamed of my scars, looking up pictures of other survivors to find hope. Now I have the confidence to be that person for others. Maybe this campaign will do that, but it also helped me believe in the beauty of my own scars.

Sometimes I worry what others will think of my burns, or wish I could wear a backless dress or bikini without worrying about showing the world the scars on my back. In times like those, I remind myself: I am a masterpiece, I’m proud of who I am, and my burns are beautiful.”

Embrace your scars. Celebrate your beauty. #burnsarebeautiful

Phoenix Society uses cookies in an an effort to improve your online experience.

I Used to Be Worried About How My Scars Looked, Until My Dad Made This Comment

By Kimberly Rex

In this personal essay, writer Kimberly Rex explains one of the most important lessons she learned from her father.

I had my first open heart surgery at one year old. I was left with a scar that ran down the center of my chest, my toddler belly bulging at its end. On July 3, 1997, fourteen years after my first surgery, a doctor cut open the old scar, dragging the metal tip of a scalpel down from my collarbone to my rib cage. He repaired and replaced parts of my heart and then pulled the skin back together and ran a needle in and out, stitching it closed.

I now had a newer version of the scar. This one was bright, dark, and pink; it glowed against my chest in the summer sun. A few inch-long scars now marked my stomach, left by the tubes used to drain blood from my chest following surgery. Five months later — one month after my sixteenth birthday — a new doctor made a new scar when he implanted a pacemaker above my left breast.

My torso resembled a sheet of graph paper I used in math class. As I worked out the answer, I’d draw and erase, draw and erase again. I’d eventually draw the right lines and make the right marks, but I could still see the shadows of my mistakes, the tail ends of the lines that wouldn’t disappear.

I grew up before attempts were made to teach young girls that they are beautiful, "flaws" and all. Or at least that’s how it felt. I don’t recall reading that my small chest was perfect in its own right. I don’t remember looking in the mirror and knowing my wide, flat nose was beautiful just because it was mine. I do remember comparing myself to the female stars of my favorite shows. I remember admiring a button nose on a random model or her green eyes, so unlike my dark brown ones.

As I grew out of my teens and into my twenties, my insecurities improved but remained. I spent many nights out with my friends surrounded by music and sweat. We laughed and flirted. We sang our favorite lyrics and danced in circles to our favorite songs. But often on that dance floor, I’d close my eyes instead of looking out, instead of seeing others see me. I’d take bathroom breaks just to look in the mirror, more often than not, unhappy with what I saw.

But throughout all the insecure thoughts clogging my head, my scars never came up. I didn’t worry about how they looked. I didn’t try to cover them with a lace overlay or a perfectly placed scarf. I wore low-cut shirts and tanks with straps so thin, I thought they’d tear. I wore bikinis on the beach, the ocean breeze grazing against my exposed chest and belly button. As I sat with my toes curling into the sand, I’d use one fingertip to rub a dollop of sunblock onto each scar — the fibrous skin soft like the inside of a favorite sweatshirt.

They were there, and they were mine, but I never thought much about them at all.

I wondered why. Why would a young woman be insecure about so many parts of her appearance but not self-conscious of the one “flaw” that would stand out the most? I stressed over how far my size nine feet extended from the hem of my jeans, so how could I not worry about the deep pink scar stretching out of my v-neck top?

Then I remembered. There was a time when I cared. Soon after my second surgery of 1997, I was worried about my scars. I was worried about others seeing them, the wrinkled skin, the shiny surface.

Then something changed.

I sat at our kitchen table, the bleached wood of the chair smooth under my thighs. I turned the slippery pages of a magazine and searched for a dress for a friend’s sweet sixteen party. I flipped and flicked the pages, complaining to my mother about the necklines, how they were too low or too deep, not enough to cover up the marks left on my chest by the past year.

My father stood near the table listening. My father always listened before he spoke.

“Why do you care if it covers your scar?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “It’s ugly.”

In my memory, my father is in the corner of my eye. His face is only somewhat visible and it’s blurry, like a butterfly that passes before you have a chance to turn your head. The truth is: since he died years ago, this is the only way I see him. He’s always fuzzy, almost sheer, as if he’s there but he’s not, as though I could pass my hand right through him if I tried.

His voice, though, is in my ears. It’s casual, not forced. He speaks as if he’s speaking of the weather or baseball, the dinner we’d soon eat together. He was smart enough to know a teenager would listen more that way.

“But I’ve been so proud of you,” he said. “I tell everyone at work how amazed I am by you. You never worry about your scars or anyone seeing them.”

I don’t know if I responded. I may have. Perhaps I thanked him. Perhaps I smiled and nodded. Maybe I just kept flipping, letting his words seep into me. Letting his words show me who I wanted to be.

That was the thing about my father. He didn’t tell you to do things. Of course, we had to clean our messes and respect elders, but when it came to character, he didn’t make demands. He made observations. He gave you compliments. He showed his disappointment. His words were few but carefully chosen.

And when he was done speaking, you wanted to be good. You wanted to be brave. You wanted to be proud enough of what you’d been through and the scars left behind.

Often a conversation with him came and went before you realized what he’d done. Sometimes, you didn’t see the lesson learned until years had passed and he was already gone.

By Sara Delgado

By Kara Nesvig

By Donya Momenian

I didn’t know what he had done for me that day. In just three sentences, he taught me that what I’d faced in my past made me more beautiful. He showed me that those scars were a part of me, and I took that lesson with me as I grew up, built friendships, began dating, and fell in love.

Today, I realize that I really do find my scars beautiful. Not all of them, of course. I have more now than I did that day; some are dented into my skin; some are wider than intended. But sometimes, I’ll look at one in the mirror and like what I see: the color of sand, the softest sand that’s farthest from the water. The sand that feels like powder when you left it fall through your fingers.

I know now that I am lucky to have had a father clever enough to teach me a lesson I didn’t know I wanted to learn.

In that moment, he made me want to make him proud.

Today, I know I did.

Related: This Instagram Post Nails Why We Shouldn't Care About Clothing Sizes

By Liv McConnell

• Share full article

Advertisement

Supported by

Our Scars Tell the Stories of Our Lives

By Dana Jennings

• July 20, 2009

Our scars tell stories. Sometimes they’re stark tales of life-threatening catastrophes, but more often they’re just footnotes to the ordinary but bloody detours that befall us on the roadways of life.

When I parse my body’s motley parade of scars, I see them as personal runes and conversation starters. When I wear shorts, the footlong surgical scar on my right knee rarely fails to draw a comment.

And in their railroad-track-like appearance, my scars remind me of the startling journeys that my body has taken — often enough to the hospital or the emergency room.

The ones that intrigue me most are those from childhood that I can’t account for. The one on my right eyebrow, for example, and a couple of ancient pockmarks and starbursts on my knees. I’m not shocked by them. To be honest, I wonder why there aren’t more.

I had a full and active boyhood, one that raged with scabs and scrapes, mashed and bloody knees, bumps and lumps, gashes and slashes, cats’ claws and dogs’ teeth, jagged glass, ragged steel, knots, knobs and shiners. Which raises this question: How do any of us get out of childhood alive?

My stubborn chin has sustained a fair bit of damage over the years. On close examination, there’s a faint delta of scars that brings back memories of my teenage war on acne. Those frustrating days of tetracycline and gritty soaps left my face not clean and glowing but red and raw. The acne also ravaged my back, scoring the skin there so that it still looks scorched and lunar.

I further cratered my chin as an adult. First, I sprinted into a cast-iron lamppost while chasing a fly ball in a park in Washington; I actually saw a chorus line of stars dance before my eyes as I crumpled to the ground. Second, I hooked one of those old acne potholes with my razor and created an instant dueling scar.

Scanning down from the jut of my chin to the tips of my toes, I’ve even managed to brand my feet. In high school and college I worked at Kingston Steel Drum, a factory in my New Hampshire hometown that scoured some of the 55-gallon steel drums it cleaned with acid and scalding water. The factory was eventually shut down by the federal government and became a Superfund hazardous waste site, but not before a spigot malfunctioned one day and soaked my feet in acid.

Then there are the heavy hitters, the stitched whips and serpents that make my other scars seem like dimples on a golf ball.

There’s that mighty scar on my right knee from when I was 12 years old and had a benign tumor cut out. Then there are the scars on my abdomen from when my colon (devoured by ulcerative colitis) was removed in 1984, and from my radical open prostatectomy last summer to take out my cancerous prostate. (If I ever front a heavy metal band, I think I’ll call it Radical Open Prostatectomy.)

But for all the potential tales of woe that they suggest, scars are also signposts of optimism. If your body is game enough to knit itself back together after a hard physical lesson, to make scar tissue, that means you’re still alive, means you’re on the path toward healing.

Scars, perhaps, were the primal tattoos, marks of distinction that showed you had been tried and had survived the test. And like tattoos, they also fade, though the one from my surgery last summer is still a fierce and deep purple.

There’s also something talismanic about them. I rub my scars the way other people fret a rabbit’s foot or burnish a lucky penny. Scars feel smooth and dry, the same way the scales of a snake feel smooth and dry.

I find my abdominal scars to be the most profound. They vividly remind me that skilled surgeons unlocked me with their scalpels, took out what had to be taken, sewed me back up and saved my life. It’s almost as if they left their life-giving signatures on my flawed flesh.

The scars remind me, too, that in this vain culture our vanity sometimes needs to be punctured and deflated — and that’s not such a bad thing. To paraphrase Ecclesiastes, better to be a scarred and living dog than to be a dead lion.

It’s not that I’m proud of my scars — they are what they are, born of accident and necessity — but I’m not embarrassed by them, either. More than anything, I relish the stories they tell. Then again, I’ve always believed in the power of stories, and I certainly believe in the power of scars.

Dana Jennings is a reporter at The New York Times. His postings on coping with prostate cancer appear each week at nytimes.com/well.

The Fight Against Cancer

Colon and rectal cancers are increasing among people younger than 50. Experts have a few ideas about why .

Should alcoholic beverages have cancer warning labels? Ireland will require them starting in 2026, and there are nascent efforts elsewhere .

Risk calculators can offer a more personalized picture of an individual patient’s breast cancer risk. But experts warn that the results need to be interpreted with the help of a doctor .

The human papillomavirus vaccine provides powerful protection against the leading cause of cervical cancer and against a strong risk factor for anal cancer. Here’s what to know about the shot .

A recent study adds to growing evidence that exercise is an important part of preventing prostate cancer , the second most common and second most fatal cancer in the United States for men.

No single food can prevent cancer on its own, but experts say that there are some that may help you build the best defense .

Do Scars Always Make Us Stronger?

How the cliché causes us to miss important discoveries..

Posted January 18, 2017

We’ve heard the cliché: Our scars make us stronger. Many believe it. But clinging to this convenient trope can at best be shortsighted and at worst cause harm to those who bear physical scars—whether ourselves or those we care about. When we step into the cliché that insists on the strength scars create, or foist it on others, we miss important discoveries.

What if we aren’t prideful about our scars? What if we sometimes wish our scars weren’t visible? What if they don’t give us a sense of strength but cause us angst? How powerful can it be if we despise or are disgusted by parts of our bodies? Visible scars provide others a window into our lives, but what if we do not wish for others to peer through? What if our scars remind us of terrible times or places we’ve been, experiences we’re never quite able to leave behind because we can see them with just a glance?

In gathering scar stories over the past several years for an anthology I edited, I discovered that—like most things in life—there’s a wide range of feelings and fascinating nuances that reveal the bromide “our scars make us stronger” as only one among a vast number of ways to feel about scars.

Perhaps my greatest revelation regarding scar stories—my own included—is that it is not the severity or location of the scar that has the greatest potential to shape its bearer. The strongest influences on our understanding of the scar’s role in our lives are the narratives we tell ourselves and the narratives we share with others. These are not always the same stories.

Consider this example: For those who have surgical scars from procedures that occurred while they were under anesthesia, or those who have endured traumas when they were not conscious, scars may be disturbing reminders that our physical bodies have endured circumstances our minds can’t recall. Although the experience itself is not an accessible memory , our bodies serve up physical evidence of those obscured or forgotten interludes. To make sense of the situation (which may be disturbing or even frightening), we need to create a cohesive narrative to fill that lapse in time or memory. Telling a person in the midst of this process that her scars are making her stronger suggests she skip ahead in the narrative arc of trauma, that she reach a conclusion not arrived at organically, that she tack on a prescribed ending before the plot has unfolded.

Ultimately, if the process of grappling with our scars shapes how we feel about them, it makes sense not to arrest this essential exploration by supplying a cliché, but to encourage each bearer to thoughtfully consider what her scars mean to her.

Perhaps we’ve seen similar considerations in the evolution of the iconic pink breast cancer ribbon —first, it was generally embraced as a suitable symbol, then it became more widely recognized that breast cancer is “not just a pink ribbon,” and then what followed was the desire to explore the individual stories behind those pink ribbons.

Similarly, the scar cliché of strength attempts to provide a distillation of what scars mean for everyone, period. A universally applicable, ready answer. Sometimes the danger of having an answer is that you fail to ask questions. Asking questions can be more important than having answers because the questions we might pose and the answers we might suggest are dictated by the wide array of things that make us unique individuals—our genes , our experiences, our appearance, and the stories that we tell ourselves and others about who we are.

But clichés exist for a reason. So what about our scars really makes us stronger? Are the scars supposed to be physical reminders that we have mustered the strength to get through tough times? Perhaps our strength does not emanate from the actual marks on our bodies, but from the work we do in figuring out how to tell the stories of those marks. The scars are simply emblems of whatever narrative we attach to them. Humans have the potential to overcome so much damage, even damage we’ve done to ourselves. We are (or at least can be) resilient but that resilience relies so heavily on whether we construct defeating narratives or empowering ones. If a cliché narrative isn’t jiving with reality, we may lose an opportunity for real, sustaining strength.

A thought: Before you tell yourself or someone else “our scars make us stronger,” explore the story behind the scar and encourage others to do the same. See what you and those you care about can unearth. What is revealed beyond the cliché is likely much more rich and rewarding.

For more scar stories and what they mean in others’ lives, pick up a copy of my book, Scars: An Anthology .

Erin Wood is a writer and editor in Little Rock Arkansas. She is editor of Scars: An Anthology, which assembles the work of nearly forty contributors on physical scars.

• Find a Therapist
• Find a Treatment Center
• Find a Psychiatrist
• Find a Support Group
• Find Teletherapy
• United States
• Brooklyn, NY
• Chicago, IL
• Houston, TX
• Los Angeles, CA
• New York, NY
• Portland, OR
• San Diego, CA
• San Francisco, CA
• Seattle, WA
• Washington, DC
• Asperger's
• Bipolar Disorder
• Chronic Pain
• Eating Disorders
• Passive Aggression
• Personality
• Goal Setting
• Positive Psychology
• Stopping Smoking
• Low Sexual Desire
• Relationships
• Child Development
• Therapy Center NEW
• Diagnosis Dictionary
• Types of Therapy

Understanding what emotional intelligence looks like and the steps needed to improve it could light a path to a more emotionally adept world.

• Coronavirus Disease 2019
• Affective Forecasting
• Neuroscience

• Famous Poems About Scars: Unveiling the Beauty in Our Wounds

Poetry has an incredible ability to transform our pain into something beautiful, offering solace and understanding. Throughout history, poets have explored the theme of scars, symbolizing both physical and emotional wounds. In this article, we will delve into the realm of famous poems that embrace scars as powerful and evocative metaphors for life's trials and triumphs.

"The Wound-Dresser" by Walt Whitman

One of the most renowned poems about scars is "The Wound-Dresser" by Walt Whitman . This deeply moving piece captures the experiences of a nurse during the American Civil War, tending to the wounded and witnessing their scars. Whitman's vivid descriptions illuminate the profound impact of these scars on the soldiers' lives. Through poignant imagery, he celebrates their strength and resilience, reminding us of the indomitable human spirit.

"I dress a wound in the side of a soldier, deep, deep, But a day or two more—for see, the frame all wasted and sinking, And the yellow-blue countenance see."

"To the Rose upon the Rood of Time" by W.B. Yeats

In "To the Rose upon the Rood of Time," W.B. Yeats explores the concept of emotional scars, symbolized by the image of a rose. The poem delves into the fleeting nature of beauty and the inevitability of aging and loss. The scars of time are seen as a testament to the resilience of the soul, emphasizing the importance of cherishing the present moment.

"Come near, that no more blinded by man's fate, I find under the boughs of love and hate, In all poor foolish things that live a day, Eternal beauty wandering on her way."

"The Map" by Elizabeth Bishop

Elizabeth Bishop's poignant poem "The Map" uses the metaphor of a scarred map to explore themes of loss, grief, and healing. The scarred map symbolizes the emotional wounds we carry, reminding us that scars can be maps to our past, guiding us towards growth and self-discovery. Bishop's delicate imagery and precise language make this poem a powerful reflection on the significance of scars in our lives.

"Land lies in water; it is shadowed green. Shadows, or are they shallows, at its edges showing the line of long sea-weeded ledges where weeds hang to the simple blue from green."

"The Scars" by Rupi Kaur

Rupi Kaur, a contemporary poet, explores scars in her collection "Milk and Honey." In her poem "The Scars," she delves into personal experiences of trauma and abuse. Kaur's raw and honest words shed light on the healing process, emphasizing the strength that can be found in embracing our scars. Her evocative style resonates deeply, empowering readers to find beauty in their own scars.

" our backs tell stories no books have the spine to carry."

These famous poems demonstrate that scars are not just reminders of pain, but also symbols of resilience, growth, and the capacity to heal. By exploring scars through poetry, we gain a deeper understanding of the human experience and find solace in knowing that our wounds can become a source of strength and beauty. As Walt Whitman once wrote, "In the faces of men and women I see God ."

• Famous Poems About Creation
• The Mystical Beauty of Seashells: Tiny Poems that Capture their Essence

Entradas Relacionadas

Poems About Being Adopted: Exploring the Complexity of Identity and Love

Poems about Forgetting Someone: Letting Go of Memories

Poems That Elegize the Loss of a Beloved Canine Companion

Sad Poems About Abortion: An Emotional Journey through Words

Famous Poems about Letting Go

Sudden Death: Short Poems that Capture the Inevitability of Passing

Personal Essay About Scars

Now I know what you may be thinking; why am I drifting away from the idea of scars? Scars are what they are and they can not be removed. With that being said, we all have a choice on how we view our scars. This is why I choose to see my scar as a learning experience. It does not matter how perfect someone’s life may seem. Everyone goes through challenges, but it is all about the perspective we choose to hold on these challenges. Scars are no exception because they tend to be something that we are not all completely mentally secure about.

I am telling you to let go of that ridiculous mindset and instead take an optimistic outlook on it. Not everyone’s scar is a mystery, but that does not mean we all can not learn from the scars our bodies posses. Maybe your scar is a result of surgery, or maybe you received it from a traumatizing experience. The source of the scar is your power and the basis of your lesson from it. I can not speak for everyone, just because we all have different ways these scars were sculpted on our bodies, but I do know it all comes down to how you treat that experience.

The only way anyone will be able to take one’s scar as a profound learning experience is by letting go of the idea that scars are a challenge. For those of you who believe your scar is a blemish, or a challenge, realize that this is because society has taught you to believe that is how you should view it. The good news is that anything that has been learned can be unlearned. Scars are not anything you should be ashamed of, in fact, I think they are part of what separates us from everyone else and shape us as individuals.

I would certainly hope that you do not really want to be like everyone else. You only live your life once, so do not live in the eyes of what someone else thinks. The only real way to accomplish this is by being true to yourself; look at your scar and ask yourself how you see it. You have to completely avoid any idea of what someone else might think to come up with a true answer. You will most likely be surprised by the way you personally perceive the way your scar looks. This is solely due to society’s misleading ideas of judgement that our brains eat up.

It is unfortunate that our minds can torture us like that, but it does not mean we can not grab control over our thoughts whenever we want. Sure it is tough, and at times it may seem impossible, but the choice is yours; you just have to reject other people’s thoughts and live your life in whatever style you wish. This is truly the only way you will ever be able to take care of any challenges you may face, whether it be a scar or not. Once this challenge has been conquered, your perspective towards your scar will drastically change. This is the point in your life where you can finally see your scar for the beautiful mark it is.

After society’s thoughts have been drained out of your head, you need to decide what you want to learn from your scar. The possibilities are endless, you just have to let your creativity run wild. It is amazing how vivid your vision can be once your thoughts are clear and set on your own personal goals. The creative ideas will come flowing through, but do not think you have to just pick one lesson. Take your scar and run with it in whatever direction you want. From my experience, different perspectives on scars will dictate the path you go on.

This can even be taken negatively due to the fact that you may still be insecure about your scar, this will take you down a rough path that no one wants to go down. If you see it in the most optimistic way possible, then who knows, maybe you will discover a beautiful part of yourself that you never imagined. The reward of seeing your scar optimistically has such great potential and it will only ever be granted if you have that mindset. At first it may seem daunting, but it is necessary in order to get over your insecurities, and really to become a better version of yourself.

Scars are beautiful physically and emotionally. They impact us in several different ways whether they be in a positive or negative outlook. The beauty will only be shown through the positive courses of action which is why I feel as though my advice should not be taken lightly. When I was younger, I always was insecure about my scar when I was publically shirtless, because it seemed so wrong that I was different. All it took was a little trip through my thoughts to see through the Give it a try and see what happens, you have nothing to lose.

More Essays

• Scar Miyako Ihichi Analysis Essay
• Essay on Personal Narrative: Reoccurring Challenges In My Life
• Personal Narrative: A Story That Changed My Life Essay
• Personal Narrative Essay: Life As A Refugee
• Personal Narrative: Learning To Play Basketball Essay
• Essay about Compliance And Conformity In Education
• Essay on Personal Narrative: Becoming A Successful Adult
• Essay on Fighting For Freedom-Personal Narrative
• Personal Narrative-Self Defining Essay
• Definition Essay: What Is Love?

Published on November 6th, 2018 | by Lyndsay Knowles

Scars: A Photo Essay

“What is that?” my son asks, his finger reaching out, pointing to a small stretch of skin above my belly button, a once-angry red fading to a softer pink, the edges both jagged and smooth.

“This is a scar,” I say, as I sit down on the bed next to where he’s standing, bringing my stomach to his level so he can see it closely.

He squints as he studies it. “A scar?” he asks. “What are scars from?”

“Scars come from lots of different things—falls, burns, surgeries, cuts.” He listens intently, his eyes fixed on the pink mark. “The skin heals, but you can still see it.”

“Do they ever go away?” he finally asks. He is worried.

“No,” I say, as I put my hand to his cheek, then tap him softly under the chin, a signal for him to raise his eyes and meet mine.

“They don’t. But that’s okay.”

He’s almost two years older when, talking softly in his room one night after bedtime stories, he tugs at the bottom of my shirt. “Can I see the baby?” he asks. I lift it up, bringing the edge of the fabric to the top of my swelling stomach. He places his hand over my belly button, then lightly traces the taut line of light pink skin that is stretched and strained.

“That’s your scar,” he says. “It won’t ever go away, right?”

“I’m glad I don’t have any scars,” he says.

I gently touch the scar hidden beneath his right eyebrow, reminding him of his fall on our concrete porch.

“I’m glad that I have mine,” I tell him.

“Why?” he asks, surprised.

I think of all the things I want to say to him about pain and loss and beauty and healing and grief and memory. But I know he isn’t ready, that even I’m not ready.

I settle on a simpler version of the truth.

“My scars each remind me of something important,” I tell him.

“Like this one,” I say, lifting my leg and pointing to my knee. “This one I got at my grandmother’s house when I was a little girl, even younger than you. It was Easter Sunday, and I was all dressed up. I was so excited to see her that I started running on the sidewalk in front of her house. I fell down and scraped up my knee and it started bleeding. But you know what she did? She lifted me up and carried me in the house and into the bathroom, and she took off my tights, and she cleaned up the blood and she put a band-aid on it. She took care of me and made me feel better. This scar reminds me of her.”

What I don’t tell him: how I was scared that my mother would be upset I had torn my new tights, how the washcloth and the soap burned as my grandmother removed the pieces of gravel from my knee, how I picked at the edges of the scab when the wound started to heal, how the green pus leaked out around the edges, how the scab stuck to the band-aid and peeled away, leaving freshly wounded skin, how it seemed that it took months to heal.

“And this one.” I point to my wrist. “When I was a bigger kid, I went ice skating with my friends. I had one friend who was always being silly. She started chasing me on the ice and she fell. Her feet flew up in the air as I turned around and her ice skate almost hit my face. I put my hand up to protect my eyes, and the tip of the blade on her skate hit my wrist. I think of her when I look at it now.”

What I don’t tell him: how she was strong and fearless and beautiful, how she taught me to doodle flowers and butterflies in science class while the teacher’s voice droned on in the background, how she tried to teach me to dance, raising my arms out to my sides, checking my posture and the positioning of my feet, never losing her patience, how we ate donuts in her bed on Saturday mornings and watched music videos on MTV and talked on the phone while we waited for her Hanson request to play on Mix 97.7, how she lied and said she hadn’t kissed him, hadn’t been naked with him, hadn’t betrayed my trust, until she admitted that she did, how I couldn’t forgive her–wouldn’t forgive her, how we stopped speaking and I discovered, years later through a text message, that she had been homeless, that her body had been found in a river in the city where she lived–no foul play suspected, how I had cried, felt the throb of regret deep in my stomach and the guilt in my tears.

I take his hand in mine.

“Remember how I told you that when you were born, the doctors had to cut open my belly to get you out?”

He nods, serious.

“What do you think that scar reminds me of?”

“The day I was born.” He smiles, his brown eyes crinkling as he looks up at me and settles in closer at my side.

“Yes,” I nod. “It does. That was a really special day.”

“And this one,” I say pointing to the stretched scar on the center of my stomach, “is from a surgery the doctors did to see if it would help me have another baby. And we didn’t know if it would work, but it did.”

“Yeah,” he says, grinning. “And now there’s a baby in your belly.”

“Now there’s a baby in my belly.” I pat my stomach, and he places his hand beside mine.

“So the scar reminds you of the baby?”

“Yes, the scar reminds me of the baby,” I agree, and I feel two quick nudges from within.

What I don’t tell him: how the bruises blossomed and spread up the sides of my stomach and over the insides of my thighs, a purple so deep it was almost black, how when I looked in the mirror, my body was not my body, how the fatigue made my thoughts thick and weighted for months, until I allowed myself to ask Was it worth it?, how a test was finally positive a year after the surgery, how five days later I started bleeding, how every time I looked at my bare stomach I thought of the ring of red floating in the toilet, how the doubt crept in, a forceful tide like the deep purple watermarks on my skin, how I had just begun to hope.

Our bedtime routine over, I roll to the side of the bed and inch my way up, careful not to lose my balance as I place my hand underneath my stomach, like it’s a weight I can make lighter as I stand. I tuck him in, leaning down to place a kiss on his forehead and smooth back his hair. We say our good-nights, and I close his bedroom door, leaving it cracked a bit so he can see the light that stretches down the hallway from the kitchen.

Tags: c-section , Lyndsay Knowles , photo essay , photographs , Scars , surgery

About the Author

Lyndsay   Knowles  is a writer and English teacher. She lives in Western North Carolina with her husband, son, and daughter. Her work has been featured in  You&Me  Magazine and is forthcoming in  Literary Mama.

Related Posts

Chronicle of a Trip: Part 3, Zu Hause →

Chronicle of a Trip: Part 2, Kaputt →

My Brain on Bedrest →

Chronicle of a Trip: PS / Post Script →

6 responses to scars: a photo essay, leave a reply.

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Subscribe to Mutha

• Weekly Digest

© 2013-2016 Mutha Magazine

• Contributors
• Submission Guidelines

Recommended for you

The beauty of scars, scars to your beautiful.

When you have any kind of surgery, odds are you are going to have a scar after. It will not go away while you are recovering, a reminder of what was and what is today. Surgery is the process of using manual and instrumental techniques to treat a disease or injury. There is no denying you will have a scar after surgery due to the incisions your doctor makes.

Some people have tattoos in order to cover their scars, but from a surgical standpoint why would you? I love tattoos, but why would you want to cover the reason you are alive today?

I understand if you have been abused, however, you should not be embarrassed about your surgery scars. I have a huge scar on my chest from when I had open heart surgery before I was two years old. Every day I look at it in the mirror and it reminds me of where I have been.

Some people are not so lucky. They have been abused or assaulted, but what the physical scars do not cover are the ones dealing with mental and emotional trauma. You can cover up a physical scar just fine no matter where it is but the mental and emotional ones are not so easy to just put a band-aid on.

There is a certain beauty in a scar. Where you have had a heart surgery, a mastectomy, or a caesarean section, it is there with you until you die. On hospital television shows when the doctors warn their patients about significant scarring, the patient says no to the surgery, even if it could save their lives.

I think, "how selfish?"

How vain do you have to be the the melanoma eating away your cheek will eventually spread throughout your body killing you. Is a little scar worth having to go through numerous amounts of chemo and radiation therapy?

Scars are different. Like I said, emotional scars are a lot harder to cover. There are healthy and not so healthy ways to deal with them. You have therapy, talking to your doctor, reading, writing, eating and being healthier, exercising, and no so healthy ways such as drugs, alcohol, and the internet (pornography or too much social media).

Choosing a way to deal and cope with your scars emotionally and mentally is strictly your business, but I would recommend the healthier options. Drugs, alcohol, and the internet can become addictive, and I am sure no one wants to be dependent on another substance or object when they are just getting out of a toxic relationship of whatever or whomever.

The beauty of scars is it shows where you have been and where you are going now. It proves that you have had a disease, condition, or injury and it has been healed thanks to the doctors and surgeons who practice the art of surgery every day.

Subscribe to our Newsletter

Grateful beyond words: a letter to my inspiration, i have never been so thankful to know you..

I can't say "thank you" enough to express how grateful I am for you coming into my life. You have made such a huge impact on my life. I would not be the person I am today without you and I know that you will keep inspiring me to become an even better version of myself.

You have taught me that you don't always have to strong. You are allowed to break down as long as you pick yourself back up and keep moving forward. When life had you at your worst moments, you allowed your friends to be there for you and to help you. You let them in and they helped pick you up. Even in your darkest hour you showed so much strength. I know that you don't believe in yourself as much as you should but you are unbelievably strong and capable of anything you set your mind to.

Your passion to make a difference in the world is unbelievable. You put your heart and soul into your endeavors and surpass any personal goal you could have set. Watching you do what you love and watching you make a difference in the lives of others is an incredible experience. The way your face lights up when you finally realize what you have accomplished is breathtaking and I hope that one day I can have just as much passion you have.

SEE MORE: A Letter To My Best Friend On Her Birthday

The love you have for your family is outstanding. Watching you interact with loved ones just makes me smile . You are so comfortable and you are yourself. I see the way you smile when you are around family and I wish I could see you smile like this everyday. You love with all your heart and this quality is something I wished I possessed.

You inspire me to be the best version of myself. I look up to you. I feel that more people should strive to have the strength and passion that you exemplify in everyday life.You may be stubborn at points but when you really need help you let others in, which shows strength in itself. I have never been more proud to know someone and to call someone my role model. You have taught me so many things and I want to thank you. Thank you for inspiring me in life. Thank you for making me want to be a better person.

Waitlisted for a College Class? Here's What to Do!

Dealing with the inevitable realities of college life..

Course registration at college can be a big hassle and is almost never talked about. Classes you want to take fill up before you get a chance to register. You might change your mind about a class you want to take and must struggle to find another class to fit in the same time period. You also have to make sure no classes clash by time. Like I said, it's a big hassle.

This semester, I was waitlisted for two classes. Most people in this situation, especially first years, freak out because they don't know what to do. Here is what you should do when this happens.

Don't freak out

This is a rule you should continue to follow no matter what you do in life, but is especially helpful in this situation.

Email the professor

Around this time, professors are getting flooded with requests from students wanting to get into full classes. This doesn't mean you shouldn't burden them with your email; it means they are expecting interested students to email them. Send a short, concise message telling them that you are interested in the class and ask if there would be any chance for you to get in.

Attend the first class

Often, the advice professors will give you when they reply to your email is to attend the first class. The first class isn't the most important class in terms of what will be taught. However, attending the first class means you are serious about taking the course and aren't going to give up on it.

Keep attending class

Every student is in the same position as you are. They registered for more classes than they want to take and are "shopping." For the first couple of weeks, you can drop or add classes as you please, which means that classes that were once full will have spaces. If you keep attending class and keep up with assignments, odds are that you will have priority. Professors give preference to people who need the class for a major and then from higher to lower class year (senior to freshman).

Have a backup plan

For two weeks, or until I find out whether I get into my waitlisted class, I will be attending more than the usual number of classes. This is so that if I don't get into my waitlisted class, I won't have a credit shortage and I won't have to fall back in my backup class. Chances are that enough people will drop the class, especially if it is very difficult like computer science, and you will have a chance. In popular classes like art and psychology, odds are you probably won't get in, so prepare for that.

Remember that everything works out at the end

Life is full of surprises. So what if you didn't get into the class you wanted? Your life obviously has something else in store for you. It's your job to make sure you make the best out of what you have.

Navigating the Talking Stage: 21 Essential Questions to Ask for Connection

It's mandatory to have these conversations..

Whether you met your new love interest online , through mutual friends, or another way entirely, you'll definitely want to know what you're getting into. I mean, really, what's the point in entering a relationship with someone if you don't know whether or not you're compatible on a very basic level?

Consider these 21 questions to ask in the talking stage when getting to know that new guy or girl you just started talking to:

1. What do you do for a living?

What someone does for a living can tell a lot about who they are and what they're interested in! Their career reveals a lot more about them than just where they spend their time to make some money.

2. What's your favorite color?

OK, I get it, this seems like something you would ask a Kindergarten class, but I feel like it's always good to know someone's favorite color . You could always send them that Snapchat featuring you in that cute shirt you have that just so happens to be in their favorite color!

3. Do you have any siblings?

This one is actually super important because it's totally true that people grow up with different roles and responsibilities based on where they fall in the order. You can tell a lot about someone just based on this seemingly simple question.

4. What's your favorite television show?

OK, maybe this isn't a super important question, but you have to know ASAP if you can quote Michael Scott or not. If not, he probably isn't the one. Sorry, girl.

5. When is your birthday?

You can then proceed to do the thing that every girl does without admitting it and see how compatible your zodiacs are.

6. What's your biggest goal in life?

If you're like me, you have big goals that you want to reach someday, and you want a man behind you who also has big goals and understands what it's like to chase after a dream. If his biggest goal is to see how quickly he can binge-watch " Grey's Anatomy " on Netflix , you may want to move on.

7. If you had three wishes granted to you by a genie, what would they be?

This is a go-to for an insight into their personality. Based on how they answer, you can tell if they're goofy, serious, or somewhere in between.

8. What's your favorite childhood memory?

For some, this may be a hard question if it involves a family member or friend who has since passed away . For others, it may revolve around a tradition that no longer happens. The answers to this question are almost endless!

9. If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be?

We all have parts of our lives and stories that we wish we could change. It's human nature to make mistakes. This question is a little bit more personal but can really build up the trust level.

10. Are you a cat or a dog person?

I mean, duh! If you're a dog person, and he is a cat person, it's not going to work out.

11. Do you believe in a religion or any sort of spiritual power?

Personally, I am a Christian, and as a result, I want to be with someone who shares those same values. I know some people will argue that this question is too much in the talking stage , but why go beyond the talking stage if your personal values will never line up?

12. If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would it be?

Even homebodies have a must visit place on their bucket list !

13. What is your ideal date night?

Hey, if you're going to go for it... go for it!

14. Who was/is your celebrity crush?

For me, it was hands-down Nick Jonas . This is always a fun question to ask!

15. What's a good way to cheer you up if you're having a bad day?

Let's be real, if you put a label on it, you're not going to see your significant other at their best 24/7.

16. Do you have any tattoos?

This can lead to some really good conversations, especially if they have a tattoo that has a lot of meaning to them!

17. Can you describe yourself in three words?

It's always interesting to see if how the person you're talking to views their personal traits lines ups with the vibes you're getting.

18. What makes you the most nervous in life?

This question can go multiple different directions, and it could also be a launching pad for other conversations.

19. What's the best gift you have ever received? 

Admittedly, I have asked this question to friends as well, but it's neat to see what people value.

20. What do you do to relax/have fun?

Work hard, play hard, right?

21. What are your priorities at this phase of your life?

This is always interesting because no matter how compatible your personalities may be, if one of you wants to be serious and the other is looking for something casual, it's just not going to work.

Follow Swoon on Instagram .

Challah vs. Easter Bread: A Delicious Dilemma

Is there really such a difference in challah bread or easter bread.

Ever since I could remember, it was a treat to receive Easter Bread made by my grandmother. We would only have it once a year and the wait was excruciating. Now that my grandmother has gotten older, she has stopped baking a lot of her recipes that require a lot of hand usage--her traditional Italian baking means no machines. So for the past few years, I have missed enjoying my Easter Bread.

A few weeks ago, I was given a loaf of bread called Challah (pronounced like holla), and upon my first bite, I realized it tasted just like Easter Bread. It was so delicious that I just had to make some of my own, which I did.

The recipe is as follows:

Ingredients

2 tsp active dry or instant yeast 1 cup lukewarm water 4 to 4 1/2 cups all-purpose flour 1/2 cup white granulated sugar 2 tsp salt 2 large eggs 1 large egg yolk (reserve the white for the egg wash) 1/4 cup neutral-flavored vegetable oil

Instructions

• Combine yeast and a pinch of sugar in small bowl with the water and stir until you see a frothy layer across the top.
• Whisk together 4 cups of the flour, sugar, and salt in a large bowl.
• Make a well in the center of the flour and add in eggs, egg yolk, and oil. Whisk these together to form a slurry, pulling in a little flour from the sides of the bowl.
• Pour the yeast mixture over the egg slurry and mix until difficult to move.
• Turn out the dough onto a floured work surface and knead by hand for about 10 minutes. If the dough seems very sticky, add flour a teaspoon at a time until it feels tacky, but no longer like bubblegum. The dough has finished kneading when it is soft, smooth, and holds a ball-shape.
• Place the dough in an oiled bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and place somewhere warm. Let the dough rise 1 1/2 to 2 hours.
• Separate the dough into four pieces. Roll each piece of dough into a long rope roughly 1-inch thick and 16 inches long.
• Gather the ropes and squeeze them together at the very top. Braid the pieces in the pattern of over, under, and over again. Pinch the pieces together again at the bottom.
• Line a baking sheet with parchment and lift the loaf on top. Sprinkle the loaf with a little flour and drape it with a clean dishcloth. Place the pan somewhere warm and away from drafts and let it rise until puffed and pillowy, about an hour.
• Heat the oven to 350°F. Whisk the reserved egg white with a tablespoon of water and brush it all over the challah. Be sure to get in the cracks and down the sides of the loaf.
• Slide the challah on its baking sheet into the oven and bake for 30 to 35 minutes, rotating the pan halfway through cooking. The challah is done when it is deeply browned.

I kept wondering how these two breads could be so similar in taste. So I decided to look up a recipe for Easter Bread to make a comparison. The two are almost exactly the same! These recipes are similar because they come from religious backgrounds. The Jewish Challah bread is based on kosher dietary laws. The Christian Easter Bread comes from the Jewish tradition but was modified over time because they did not follow kosher dietary laws.

A recipe for Easter bread is as follows:

2 tsp active dry or instant yeast 2/3 cup milk 2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour 1/4 cup white granulated sugar 2 tbs butter 2 large eggs 2 tbs melted butter 1 tsp salt

• In a large bowl, combine 1 cup flour, sugar, salt, and yeast; stir well. Combine milk and butter in a small saucepan; heat until milk is warm and butter is softened but not melted.
• Gradually add the milk and butter to the flour mixture; stirring constantly. Add two eggs and 1/2 cup flour; beat well. Add the remaining flour, 1/2 cup at a time, stirring well after each addition. When the dough has pulled together, turn it out onto a lightly floured surface and knead until smooth and elastic, about 8 minutes.
• Lightly oil a large bowl, place the dough in the bowl and turn to coat with oil. Cover with a damp cloth and let rise in a warm place until doubled in volume, about 1 hour.
• Deflate the dough and turn it out onto a lightly floured surface. Divide the dough into two equal size rounds; cover and let rest for 10 minutes. Roll each round into a long roll about 36 inches long and 1 1/2 inches thick. Using the two long pieces of dough, form a loosely braided ring, leaving spaces for the five colored eggs. Seal the ends of the ring together and use your fingers to slide the eggs between the braids of dough.
• Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place loaf on a buttered baking sheet and cover loosely with a damp towel. Place loaf in a warm place and let rise until doubled in bulk, about 45 minutes. Brush risen loaf with melted butter.
• Bake in the preheated oven until golden brown, about 30 minutes.

Both of these recipes are really easy to make. While you might need to have a day set aside for this activity, you can do things while the dough is rising or in the oven. After only a few hours, you have a delicious loaf of bread that you made from scratch, so the time and effort is really worth it!

Unlocking Lake People's Secrets: 15 Must-Knows!

There's no other place you'd rather be in the summer..

The people that spend their summers at the lake are a unique group of people.

Whether you grew up going to the lake , have only recently started going, or have only been once or twice, you know it takes a certain kind of person to be a lake person. To the long-time lake people, the lake holds a special place in your heart , no matter how dirty the water may look.

Every year when summer rolls back around, you can't wait to fire up the boat and get back out there. Here is a list of things you can probably identify with as a fellow lake-goer.

A bad day at the lake is still better than a good day not at the lake.

It's your place of escape, where you can leave everything else behind and just enjoy the beautiful summer day. No matter what kind of week you had, being able to come and relax without having to worry about anything else is the best therapy there is. After all, there's nothing better than a day of hanging out in the hot sun, telling old funny stories and listening to your favorite music.

You know the best beaches and coves to go to.

Whether you want to just hang out and float or go walk around on a beach, you know the best spots. These often have to be based on the people you're with, given that some "party coves" can get a little too crazy for little kids on board. I still have vivid memories from when I was six that scared me when I saw the things drunk girls would do for beads.

You have no patience for the guy who can't back his trailer into the water right.

When there's a long line of trucks waiting to dump their boats in the water, there's always that one clueless guy who can't get it right, and takes 5 attempts and holds up the line. No one likes that guy. One time my dad got so fed up with a guy who was taking too long that he actually got out of the car and asked this guy if he could just do it for him. So he got into the guy's car, threw it in reverse, and got it backed in on the first try. True story.

Doing the friendly wave to every boat you pass.

Similar to the "jeep wave," almost everyone waves to other boats passing by. It's just what you do, and is seen as a normal thing by everyone.

The cooler is always packed, mostly with beer.

Alcohol seems to be a big part of the lake experience, but other drinks are squeezed into the room remaining in the cooler for the kids, not to mention the wide assortment of chips and other foods in the snack bag.

Giving the idiot who goes 30 in a "No Wake Zone" a piece of your mind.

There's nothing worse than floating in the water, all settled in and minding your business, when some idiot barrels through. Now your anchor is loose, and you're left jostled by the waves when it was nice and perfectly still before. This annoyance is typically answered by someone yelling some choice words to them that are probably accompanied by a middle finger in the air.

You have no problem with peeing in the water.

It's the lake, and some social expectations are a little different here, if not lowered quite a bit. When you have to go, you just go, and it's no big deal to anyone because they do it too.

You know the frustration of getting your anchor stuck.

The number of anchors you go through as a boat owner is likely a number that can be counted on two hands. Every once in a while, it gets stuck on something on the bottom of the lake, and the only way to fix the problem is to cut the rope, and you have to replace it.

Watching in awe at the bigger, better boats that pass by.

If you're the typical lake-goer, you likely might have an average-sized boat that you're perfectly happy with. However, that doesn't mean you don't stop and stare at the fast boats that loudly speed by, or at the obnoxiously huge yachts that pass.

Knowing any swimsuit that you own with white in it is best left for the pool or the ocean.

You've learned this the hard way, coming back from a day in the water and seeing the flowers on your bathing suit that were once white, are now a nice brownish hue.

The momentary fear for your life as you get launched from the tube.

If the driver knows how to give you a good ride, or just wants to specifically throw you off, you know you're done when you're speeding up and heading straight for a big wave. Suddenly you're airborne, knowing you're about to completely wipe out, and you eat pure wake. Then you get back on and do it all again.

You're able to go to the restaurants by the water wearing minimal clothing.

One of the many nice things about the life at the lake is that everybody cares about everything a little less. Rolling up to the place wearing only your swimsuit, a cover-up, and flip flops, you fit right in. After a long day when you're sunburned, a little buzzed, and hungry, you're served without any hesitation.

Having unexpected problems with your boat.

Every once in a while you're hit with technical difficulties, no matter what type of watercraft you have. This is one of the most annoying setbacks when you're looking forward to just having a carefree day on the water, but it's bound to happen. This is just one of the joys that come along with being a boat owner.

Having a name for your boat unique to you and your life.

One of the many interesting things that make up the lake culture is the fact that many people name their boats. They can range from basic to funny, but they are unique to each and every owner, and often have interesting and clever meanings behind them.

There's no better place you'd rather be in the summer.

Summer is your all-time favorite season, mostly because it's spent at the lake. Whether you're floating in the cool water under the sun, or taking a boat ride as the sun sets, you don't have a care in the world at that moment . The people that don't understand have probably never experienced it, but it's what keeps you coming back every year.

Trending Topics

Songs About Being 17 Grey's Anatomy Quotes Vine Quotes 4 Leaf Clover Self Respect

Top Creators

1. Brittany Morgan,   National Writer's Society 2. Radhi,   SUNY Stony Brook 3. Kristen Haddox , Penn State University 4. Jennifer Kustanovich , SUNY Stony Brook 5. Clare Regelbrugge , University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign

Trending Stories

9 problems girls with big boobs will understand, 12 bible verses to remind yourself "you are enough", the art of being lazy, a letter to someone i love as they struggle with anxiety and depression, a thank you letter to your boyfriend/girlfriend, best of health and wellness top 10 reasons my school rocks, 70 of the most referenced movies ever, 7 new year clichés: break free, embrace change, unleash inspiration: 15 relatable disney lyrics, the six most iconic pitbull lyrics of all time, subscribe to our newsletter, facebook comments.