A few weeks ago, my classmates and I read a poem about scars during a Humanities course that’s part of our physical therapy program.

Then, we all spent a few minutes collectively writing about our scars over Zoom. Some people’s scars were physical. Some were emotional. Some had positive associations. Some were negative. Some were mixed.

I like the idea of reflecting on our scars instead of our wounds. Wounds make me think of gaping, unhealed parts of us. But scars have healed to some degree. They are no longer fresh.

They tell our stories. They don’t define us, but they are a part of who we are today.

As I wrote about my scars, I thought about familial scars that have been handed down. And I thought about moments in time that left their mark on me.

I have all sorts of physical scars — some fleeting and others long-lasting. I have scars on my knees from splitting them open on gravel during middle school track practice. I have a scar on my hand where I burned myself when I used a literal iron to straighten my hair back before flat irons existed. A more notable scar is the one on my lower belly from the emergency C-section that delivered my son.

And, I have emotional scarring like we all do.

It’s ok to have scars of all types and shapes and sizes. Having scars is human.

And I like the idea of framing the story of our scars as one of survival. We have bled and been in pain, and we have healed. Our wounds have closed.

We have been hurt and hurt others, and we had a chance to learn from both. Through it all, we have survived. We are flawed, and yet we can keep going. We can choose the see the nicks in our storyline as an adventure or a struggle that forged us into the version of us that exists today.

A perfect, smooth path isn’t nearly as interesting as one with a craggy ridge line and diverse terrain.

Likewise, the current version of you is dynamic, interesting, and wise because of the life you’ve lived and the scars you’ve picked up along the way.

In his song “Anthem,” Leonard Cohen says, “Forget your perfect offerings. There’s a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”

We all have cracks, scars, flaws.

But I think Cohen is right. The cracks in ourselves and our lives are how the light gets in. From that darkness, struggle, or challenge, light can peak through. And, because of the darkness, we can appreciate the light.

We can know we made it, through whatever experiences marked us, to now, where we can stand with our scars in the light of today.

Joanna Zaremba is a writer, yoga teacher, movement and mindset coach, and student in the Doctor of Physical Therapy Program at the University of Colorado. She helps her clients to trust themselves and their bodies. Joanna has lived in the Pikes Peak Region since 2011 and can be reached at joannazaremba@gmail.com.