I Love My Scars

 I Love My Scars

We live in a world where women’s bodies are treated like products—packaged, polished, perfected for sale. In a capitalist, patriarchal society, the female body is not owned by the woman herself. It is scrutinized, sized, sexualized, and commodified. We are bombarded with messages about how we should look—fair skin, flawless features, the “right” curves in the “right” places, zero wrinkles, zero stretch marks, zero signs of real life. The capitalist patriarchal society does everything to body-shame a woman. 

From beauty creams that promise to lighten our skin, to plastic surgeries that reshape our features, to fitness industries that obsess over waistlines—this economy thrives on our supposed imperfections. Women are made to feel as though they are never enough. And as we internalize these expectations, self-hatred is sold to us as self-improvement. Insecurity becomes profitable. Shame becomes marketable. Capitalism has turned our bodies into battlegrounds, and our confidence into a currency.

But I reject this model. I reject this cruel, exhausting game of chasing an illusion. I reject the idea that beauty lies in smoothness, symmetry, or silence.

I love my scars.

Every scar on my body tells a story. A story of survival. Of resistance. Of living through things that were meant to break me, but didn’t. My scars are not flaws. They are evidence of my survival and resistance against the injustice I faced. They are declarations that I’ve fought, that I’ve endured, that I’ve made it through nights darker than my skin, and wounds deeper than any cosmetic brand could cover.

I refuse to erase the parts of me that capitalism calls “ugly.” I refuse to hide my stretch marks, my wrinkles, my burnt patches, my uneven tone. I am not here to be consumed or approved of. My body is not a product. It is a testament.

I no longer stand before the mirror and search for what needs to be fixed. I now ask myself: What needs to be celebrated?

This rejection is not just personal—it’s political. When I say I love my scars, I am also saying: I reject your billion-dollar industry that feeds on human insecurity. I reject your advertisements that teach girls to hate themselves. I reject your narrow standards of beauty that erase entire cultures, skin tones, and body types. I reject the lie that looking “perfect” will bring freedom.

Loving my scars is my rebellion. It is my refusal to conform. It is my way of healing from a system that tried to convince me I was broken.

Because I am not broken. I am whole—with my scars, with my history, with my unfiltered body. And I am not alone. Women across the world are waking up, unlearning, and reclaiming. We are not buying into your standards anymore. We are creating our own.

So no, I will not hide. I will not conceal. I will not shrink.

I love my scars.
Because they are mine.
Because they speak the truth in a world that profits from lies.
Because they remind me—I survived, and I’m still here.