ICONIC

TW: Self Harm

“If there’s one thing I do, it’s heal. Silently, loudly, relentlessly, messily, badly, powerfully. But I do it. Every time”

I wrote this down the other day and it keeps coming back to me. I had a million different ways to introduce the “Iconic” tattoo, but that’s the one that I feel will allow me to do this story justice. 

Whether it’s my heart, my mind, or my body, I will heal. I’ve seen it in myself time and time again, and I’ve built trust within myself. I know I will be knocked down. I’m not afraid of being knocked down. I’m not afraid of pain, fear, blood, or tears, because I will fix it. I will heal, learn, grow, and thrive from it.

I trust myself to heal. 

Healing is hard. It’s confusing, it’s messy, it’s scary, it’s lonely, and no one knows how to do it perfectly. It’s one of those things you have to just do. No one can do it for you and no one knows what the right answer is except for you.

Whether it’s been a breakup, a betrayal, an injury, a trauma, a loss, a disappointment, or anything else that life has to throw at you, you know that healing is a lot of work. And it's so rewarding. It's the sweetest prize. It’s yours and no one can take that from you. It’s badass. It’s beautiful. It’s fulfilling. 

It’s Iconic. 

You may have heard my story, but you haven’t seen the scars, both literal and figurative, that it has left. 

In 2020, I experienced a culmination of events that completely changed my world.

They left me with so much pain inside that I didn’t know where to begin. I was focused solely on surviving. I didn’t have much of a choice except to keep going. But there was so much pain beneath my skin that I felt I needed to let it out, or I would explode. 

So, I tore a seam, enough to let a little pain escape. It wasn't enough- a few days would go by and the pressure of the pain would build up again. And I would release it in the same way, by cutting a seam.

I looked so okay I seemed perfectly fine and that frustrated me. After everything that happened, I just got back up and kept going. How could I be fine after all of that? It didn't make sense. Everyone that knew, commented on how well I was handling everything.

Their advice, “Don’t let it get you down. Don’t let him take anything more from you. Just keep going and prove that you’re stronger.” I was hurting and I knew it, but I couldn’t figure out how to say it or who to turn to. “Keep going” was the last thing I needed to hear.

I needed to hear that it was ok to stop for a moment. I needed to know it was ok to sit still and break down. 

I needed to know how to feel the pain without it killing me. 

The pain wasn’t something I could prove and it was hard to tell if it was real, or if it was something I should “just get over”. So, if I couldn’t see the pain on the inside, at least I could see the pain on the outside. Then, it felt real. There was an actual reason for me to be hurt. It justified the need for help. 

It was the physical representation of everything that was going on in my head.

Of course, I knew it would leave a scar. Each little incision was a decision of permanence in a moment of overwhelming pain. So, I did it in a place that only I would see: on my left hip, underneath the words that now brand me "ICONIC".

A reminder to me of my pain, my fear, and my battle with myself. And now, a reminder of my victory.

Over time, the scars on my leg healed to the point that they were barely visible. The scars on my heart are taking a similar path. The horrors became memories and bits to chat about on late night drives. The thing about scars is that no matter how much they heal, you remember how they got there. You remember the pain that split you apart. You remember watching the blood, knowing it would stain, and bracing yourself for all that you now had to heal. 

The things that I experienced left me a different person. The scars are faded but I still deal with the reality of the repercussions every day, even if it is more subtle.

I want to recognize and celebrate how much I’ve healed these scars. The way I've tended to the wounds. The work that I have done to sort through the pain, learn new habits, correct untruths in my mind, and build a healthier life every day, despite the odds.

I stood back up and I kept going. I've dedicated so much time to healing, and have continually opened myself back up to the world. I've fought for the clarity to build a beautiful life. It's Iconic. My strength is Iconic. My struggle is Iconic. My healing is Iconic.

Healing is wonderful. It deserves respect and awe because it's hard. It’s terrifying, it’s lonely, it’s misunderstood, and it’s full of judgment on the path. But so many of us have overcome that in the privacy of our rooms, under a blanket with silent tears at 2 am, wondering if you’ll feel this way forever. 

But you’re here. I’m here. Alive and well. I’m so grateful to myself for fighting for me. My heart aches for the girl that sat on her bedroom floor, completely numb. I will never forget the scars that I left in my time of pain. And I know that I may feel that same kind of pain again in my life, but I’ve committed to myself that my scars will now be in triumph.

If there is going to be a permanent scar on my body, it will be my way. It will be a choice made in healing, gratitude and growth. It will honor my fight and serve as a promise to continue my path. I know that I am meant for bigger and better things. 

I am meant for Iconic things.

Though the scars are now almost imperceptible and seemingly insignificant, they represent something much larger to me. I've placed the word "ICONIC" on my leg where I used to place the scars. This will stay on me as a tribute to my strength in both my past and my future. My journey is Iconic. 

*If you are struggling with thoughts of self harm, or aren't sure if your pain is valid to the point where you consider hurting yourself as an outlet, please reach out. I can't count the number of times that I texted a suicide hotline just to have a judgement free, stable person to talk to. If that's what you need right now, there is no shame in doing so. And there is no glory in staying silent. Whether it's to me, your mom, a neighbor, an internet friend, a journal, a therapist, a hotline, or your best friend- say something. It's ok to be scared. It's ok to be confused, weak, and lonely. You know the healthy outlets, take them. You are absolutely Iconic. 

xoxo, Bethany