Actually, I'm not fine… blog

Part 4: Hidden Scars

Trigger Warning (18+): This post contains descriptions of self-harm, suicidal thoughts, and emotional abuse. Intended for adult readers. If you are in immediate danger, please call your local emergency number now.

Some wounds you can see. Others live under the surface, folding into the way you breathe and the stories you tell yourself.

For years my pain lived in hidden places. It wasn’t always loud or dramatic, but it was constant. I learned to stitch my days together with small distractions and quiet rituals meant to keep the ache at bay. Sometimes that meant carving tiny proofs of my existence into my skin; sometimes it meant digging my nails into my palms until the sting confirmed I was still real, existing. Those actions were not cries for attention; they were secret attempts to survive a grief and shame I couldn’t name publicly.

Why do we hide these scars? Because the world doesn’t always make room for messy pain. Admitting the truth can feel like handing someone a weapon you’re not ready to be judged by. Shame says: you’re weak, you’re dramatic, you’re broken beyond repair. The truth is almost always the opposite: you are carrying weight and you have been doing the best you could with the tools you were given.

My wounds taught me a language of survival. I learned how to look calm on the outside while my insides scrambled. I learned how to say “fine” with no cracking in my voice. I became a master at hiding, and it’s a talent that both protected me and kept me trapped.

Recovery didn’t happen overnight, and it wasn’t a straight line. There were moments of progress and long stretches of relapse. But there were also tools and people that helped me carve out a new way to be:

Naming the pain removes some of its power.

• [ ] Saying out loud what you’ve been feeling ;even to yourself in a notebook; begins the loosening. It doesn’t make the pain vanish, but it takes the shape of mystery away.

Small, tangible safety plans matter.

• [ ] When the urge is strong, having a pre-written plan (someone to call, a place to go, steps to distract safely) can interrupt the loop. Plans don’t eliminate pain, they create pauses long enough to choose a different action.

Replace harm with honest alternatives.

• [ ] For me, squeezing a stress ball, drawing a line on paper, or ripping an old magazine offered a physical release without lasting damage. These aren’t magic fixes, they’re bridges until you can get help.

Build a pocket team of people.

• [ ] A trusted friend, a counselor, a teacher, a hotline worker, a few people who know enough to help you when you’re in the dark. You don’t have to tell everyone; just create a few lifelines.

Therapy and crisis help are real lifelines.

• [ ] Professional support gave me language, tools, and a place to unpack the rage and the grief without judgement. Crisis lines and local resources can keep you safe in the worst moments.

Celebrate small wins, however small.

• [ ] A day without harm. A moment when the urge passed. Telling one person. Each tiny victory is the groundwork of a different life.

There were times I thought if I just punished myself enough, the inside would match the outside, that my pain would be proven and thus meaningful. I was wrong. The meaning was not in the wound but in the survival afterward, in the slow accumulation of choices to keep going.

If you keep these scars hidden, know this: they do not make you unfit for love. They do not make you less worthy of kindness. They are markers of a story you survived, not a sentence you must carry forever.

If you find yourself standing at the edge of a thought that scares you, reach for someone or something that can hold you in that moment. The world is often imperfect, but there are anchors, sometimes strangers on a phone line, sometimes a friend who doesn’t know what to say but shows up anyway.

Reflection prompt: When the urge to hurt yourself comes, what is one small action you can try that might shift the moment: a call, a breath, a walk, a distraction? Commit to trying it once this week.

If you are in immediate danger or having thoughts of harming yourself, call your local emergency number now.
U.S. Crisis Line: Call or text 988 (24/7).
NEDA (Eating Disorders) Helpline (U.S.): 1-800-931-2237 or text NEDA to 741741.
U.K. / Ireland (Samaritans): 116 123.
International: Visit the International Association for Suicide Prevention to find crisis resources in your country.