It's Alright, Abuelita (I'm Only Scarring)

I couldn't understand why, but the moment the procedure began I started thinking about my maternal grandmother. Her grit, her severity, her ability to take charge and despite being strict and even brutal, I thought about her tough love. Being a language-oriented artist, I also couldn't help focusing on the language being used and tying it to the emotional. It didn't hurt much, but I could feel the scraping, the needles and blades underneath my skin. I thought about my now aging skin and if I should make one last session in the egografía series before my skin begins to wrinkle. The procedure took longer than I expected for a routine cyst drainage, and when it was over the doctor explained that when the numbing wore off, I would feel a burning sensation. She also explained that there were no stitches and not to be alarmed when I saw it, because it would look like an open hole and of course, leave a scar. Then I knew exactly why I thought about mi abuela. She had done a similar procedure on my back. No anesthesia, just rubbing alcohol and a diaper safety pin sterilized with the flame of a burning "candela de sebo", a candle made with animal fat. No assistants, but the people holding me down and the promise that if I moved, she'd hit me. My most recent discovery of Adlerian psychology has made me rethink triggers and what I've viewed as traumatic experiences and my attachment to them. I remembered the episode fondly. My grandmother's touch, our trust in her despite being terrified of her methods, the promise that I would be okay after the shamanistic ritual that some may view as savagery. My grandmother didn't leave an open incision, the last step of the procedure was to let the melting wax of the burning tallow candle drip into the open wound till it was filled, and once dried, she covered with medical tape.  I've always wondered how a born and raised Baptist woman knew so much about curanderia.  Sharing this kind of image on social media feels attention seeking to me. You get concerned comments from people who never really interact or family that hardly celebrate your other posts, wanting to know if you're okay, and not really buying your answer when you say you are. But I owe this one to grandma. It's the way of the virtual world. On the walk back home, I was reminded of the many times I was very ill, and grandma didn't leave my bedside. She was like a she-wolf that way. I thought about our last conversations as adults, where she would share about her own emotional scars and how she dealt with them in silence. Then I had a realization. She had to be tough to survive, and yet harshness came with a deep sense of belonging, empathy, and a willingness to cooperate and contribute to the common good and especially  her family. An Adlerian concept, I'm beginning to learn about. I'm okay. I'm also beginning to understand that despite the impact, I am not my trauma, and I can't let it determine my life. Perhaps it is our scars that are there to make us feel comfortable in our own skin and remind us that we are resilient.