Have you ever thought about having scars removed from your body because you feared that they would diminish your physical beauty? Most of us at one time or another has loathed the leftover scar tissue from an unfortunate accident or surgery. The scar tissue on your body does not make you less attractive or mar your perceived perfection; in fact it makes you more beautiful because it tells a unique, authentic story that is only personified in the physical manifestation of your body for this brief moment in time.

The scars on your body tell an exclusive story about you, where you have traveled; who you have loved, your diet and exercise practices, conditions of your birth, and what type of activities that you enjoy. There are no two people in the world with the exact scars in the exact same spots on their bodies.

Just for fun, draw a gingerbread man body on a plain piece of paper and draw all of your scars on him in the same area where they are located on your body. Next to the scar give it a number or letter. On a corresponding piece of paper or next to the drawing write each letter or number and tell the story of that scar and how it is a part of your unique design. Answer questions such as: How old were you when it happened? Who was involved? How has it changed your life? What lessons did you learn from this injury?

All my life I was afraid of dogs for fear that one would bite me. My son always wanted a dog, but I would not allow him to have one because of my fear of dogs. My son’s father gave him a six-week-old Jack Russell Terrier for Christmas in November 2007. I was afraid to come home from work because I was so afraid of this little tiny puppy. Over time I noticed that the puppy had not devoured my son or daughter, so I gradually warmed up to him. I had never loved anything the way I loved Socrates (My Jack Russell’s name).

At the height of my love and adoration for him he bit me on the lip while I was kissing him on his forehead. My lip was split and I had to go to the emergency room and receive five stitches to sew my upper lip back together. Before going to the hospital I told my son, that I wanted Socrates to be gone when I got home.

Of course when I got home, Socrates was there with his tail down looking sadder than anything I have ever seen in my life. I forgave him and it’s been five years, I still kiss him on his forehead, and he has never attempted to bite me since then.

Each morning when I put on lip gloss, I see the barely visible line where my sugar plum aka Socrates bit me, but instead of feeling anger or resentment my heart is filled with so much love. One day when I am one hundred years old, and my hair is gray, and my skin is wrinkled, and my voice is weak—it will tickle my soul with joy to look at that little scar above my lip as living proof of the depth of my love for my honey sugar plum -- Socrates.