Every Scar Tells A Story of Survival
- Dr Bhaskar Bora
- Jun 21
- 4 min read
By Dr. Bhaskar Bora
There are things about pain that nobody quite prepares you for. It doesn’t always shout. Sometimes, it lingers in the quietest corners in your breath, in a look, in the way you stop reaching for something you once loved.
And sometimes, that pain leaves behind a scar. Visible or not, it becomes part of who you are.
When I was fit and young, I thought scars were meant to be hidden and they were something you'd be ashamed of. You cover it up, you pretend it never happened, and you move on. Or at least you try. But what if that scar, whether it's a physical one or an emotional one, is not the end of your story but the beginning of a new one?
I’ve seen this. Felt this. And now I have lived this.
People often think of scars as signs of damage. But I’ve come to believe they are signs of strength. They are marks of endurance. The proof that you made it through something that could’ve broken you but didn’t. Or maybe it did, for a while. But you came back. You stood up. You tried again. You rose up after falling, and that’s what matters.
A friend once told me that her scar, after years of feeling like an ugly reminder, had become a medal. “It’s a map,” she said, “of where I’ve been. Of what I’ve overcome.” That stayed with me.
I’ve got my own scar, my disability. It’s nothing grand. Just the fact that I can't walk independently or as a normal person. I mostly accept it but sometimes when I overthink it unknowingly, it humbles me. It whispers, “Remember that day? You didn’t think you’d ever walk again, did you? And yet… here you are.”
It’s strange how a scar can hold so much memory. How it can carry fear, pain, recovery, all of it, in silence.
But scars aren't always skin deep, are they?
Some of the most painful ones live where no one can see. They show up in the way we hesitate to trust. In how we flinch at certain words. In the silence we carry around like a second skin. The emotional bruises. The disappointments. The relationships that broke us in places we didn’t know even existed.
I’ve spoken to many students, patients, and just... people over the years. And one thing I’ve learned is this: almost everyone is carrying something. A heartbreak. An injury. A loss. A mistake they haven’t forgiven themselves for. And they keep going. Somehow. That’s what courage looks like.
You don’t have to roar back into life after something breaks you. You don’t have to pretend to be unshaken. You just have to move. Even if it’s slowly. Even if it’s just surviving the day. That counts. It really does.
Healing is messy. You think you’ve let go of the past, and then one day, out of nowhere, it hits you again. And you’re back to square one. Or so it feels. But that’s not failure; that’s how it works. You wobble, you fall, you get back up. Over and over.
A young university girl once said to me during a counseling session, “I’m tired of pretending I’m okay when I’m not.” And all I could say in response was, “Then don’t pretend. Just be. That’s brave enough. Give it time, and it will heal in its own way.”
What a world we live in. One that filters out flaws, edits out struggles, and photoshops over imperfections. But maybe we need more rough edges. Maybe we need more stories that haven’t been sanded down into perfection.
Because when someone shows you their scars and tells you what it took to survive, that’s not weakness. That’s power. That’s something real.
I often think about the people I’ve met during my medical career and through 'The Second Chance in Life'. Survivors of accidents, chronic illness, depression, and life-altering losses. And the common thread? Every single one of them is carrying a deep scar and thought they were falling apart until they realized they were falling into something new.
They didn’t bounce back overnight. Some didn’t even bounce; they limped. Like I still do. They cried. I did too. They broke things (and sometimes themselves). But eventually, they began again. That new beginning is everything.
You might be carrying your own scar right now. Maybe nobody knows about it. Maybe it still hurts. Trust me, it's fine. Give it time, as some scars take longer to heal. Give yourself grace. You’re not meant to be unmarked. You’re meant to be real.
What if, next time you looked at your scars, you didn’t see damage, but proof? What if you said to yourself, I made it through that. I’m still standing.
Because you are. You’re here. That alone is enough today.
So, when the world tells you to hide your pain, to look perfect, to be fine when you’re not, I hope you remember this:
Every scar you carry is living proof that shouts out, “I survived through my bad times, and I am stronger.” and that is your scar stories of survival
And that in itself, my dear friend, is a story worth telling.
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