From Shame to Self-Love: The Story My Scars Tell
Buckle up, beautiful warriors.
Today I’m baring it ALL—literally and metaphorically. No filter. No bullshit. Just raw truth that might just save your life.
There was a time I never would’ve lifted my shirt for a photo, let alone shown you the scars that live there.
I carried too much shame.
I couldn’t bear to admit I’d been bullied about my body when I was too young and impressionable.
I wouldn’t have told you I once had surgery to suck out the fat that hovered there…
or that even after sculpted, surgically enhanced abs, I still didn’t feel worthy of love.
Not yours. Not mine.
So, what changed? Why show them now?
To make amends to my body in hopes you can find your way to do the same with yours.
This photo doesn’t just show liposuction scars.
It shows the aftermath of
- Two traumatic Caesarean births
- A radical emergency hysterectomy
- A fight for my life against aggressive uterine and cervical cancer
But even deeper than that, I’m sharing this because:
Too many people don’t know (or don’t believe)
how much our choices affect us—
not just emotionally. Cellularly.
Let’s get fucking real.
I spent most of my life disempowered.
Repeating familiar cycles:
- Relationships and jobs that stuffed me with abuse
- Diets and debt that starved me
Then I got cancer—in my power center.
My womb.
The place I was meant to birth life, creation… myself.
I had binged so long on toxicity, I was forced to purge:
- Surgery.
- Chemo.
- Radiation.
The body keeps the score, loves.
It always has.
It always will.
Once, I loathed myself enough to carve myself up electively.
Now, I love myself enough to tell this story—not just to save my own life,
but maybe yours.
Not necessarily from cancer,
but from the slow, silent suffering that contributes to it.
That eating-away-from-the-inside-out.
That giving-space-to-what-isn’t-yours.
That toxic, parasitic, soul-suffocating shit you tolerate because
somewhere deep down, some part of you believes…
you deserve it.
Your body is speaking
- Sensation
- Dis-ease
- Longing
- Resistance
It’s the oldest language you know—
but the one you’ve likely been taught to ignore.
So remember these scars next time you’re asked to swallow a lie or bite your tongue.
See my belly next time you want to criticize your own.
Your body is your home. Your history. Your truth-teller.
Are you listening?
Are you advocating?
Because a “banging” body doesn’t do you much good
if it’s dying.
I invite you to:
- Ask your body what it needs—not what Instagram thinks it should look like
- Notice where you’re tolerating toxicity because some wounded part thinks that’s all you deserve
- Release the shame that keeps you silent, small, and sick
Your scars aren’t ugly, darling.
They’re sacred text.
Proof you’ve lived.
Proof you’ve suffered.
Proof you survived.
And now, if you choose—
you can thrive.