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Scar tissue fascinates me. It’s the body’s way of stabilizing a wound: its own internal suture spell. And while that instinct is often wise, unexamined scar tissue can limit movement, dull sensation, and shape how we carry ourselves.
Chest scars (whether from gender affirmation, cancer, trauma, or aesthetic/postural choice) live close to the heart, breath, and relational center of the body. Healing here isn’t just physical. It’s functional, emotional, and intimate. Scars are visible symbols of survival. They whisper tales of the body’s steadfast guardianship. They also mirror the psychic and emotional scars we carry, the ones no one sees, but which shape how we move through the world.
Working with scars means renegotiating boundaries, reawakening interoception, and reclaiming space. It also means honoring the body’s brilliance in how it once protected you, while gently inviting it to soften, stretch, and feel again.
We all carry a treasury of coping mechanisms: the artful dance of dissociation, the soft cocoon of distraction. These are beautiful. But even the most loyal protectors can grow clingy. Scar care helps us meet that edge. Not to force change, but to rest alongside it. To listen.
Tending to fascia around the chest, shoulders, ribs, and sternum isn’t about fixing flatness or fullness. It’s about making room for breath, sensation, expression, and choice. Scar care helps you meet your chest as it is now, with curiosity and an invitation toward feeling more.
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Photo by Michael Morse
Photo by Bogdan Semenchuk
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Photo by Xingchen Xiao
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Offering with love by Ro Rose @QueerlyFluid