I recently had a patient who came to me with the complaint of long-standing lower back pain as well as a day of neck/upper back pain. In the time I spent with her, with some various forms of bodywork, I noticed scars I hadn’t seen previously. She flinched imperceptibly as I approached them—on her forearms. I kept massaging, my touch light and smooth, not pausing to signal reticence on my part. I wanted to signal my acceptance of her scars, her body’s trauma—which seemed to have been self-inflicted in the distant past. I tried to imbue my touch with as much love and care and acceptance that I could.

I did not speak of them. I do not know if she was uncomfortable that I saw them, or touched them. She is a mother now and comes into our shop for self-care.

I thought about her the rest of the day. I wanted to tell her “we all have scars…”

Some are on the outside and may cause shame or embarrassment. Some are on the inside, ricocheting around wreaking havoc emotionally, physically, mentally and even spiritually.

We are all flawed individuals. And at some point we need to recognize this. I mean we as a species. So much is full of discord and hatred and “othering” today. And yet, underneath it all, we are the same. We crack and break and bleed and cry and smile and laugh and dance all the same.

Early on in my recovery years, I heard someone say “be kind to everyone you meet today as they may be fighting battles that you cannot see.”

We all have scars.

From battles seen by others on the outside—and battles hidden from others on the inside.

My father had taped to his steering wheel a line from the Prayer of St. Francis. It said simply: “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.”

My father was raised in the Roman Catholic faith. We’re talking altar boy status, Jesuit school upbringing. And then, life took a different path and the Church wasn’t working for him anymore. His spirituality changed—a couple of times before he died. At the time of the prayer on the steering wheel, he was deep into his recovery and AA was his “religion.” His Higher Power morphed a few times but he came to love the Prayer of St. Francis and knew that it was a ticket to his peace.

To me, it’s granting some grace. Especially in those times of stress and distress, like driving. Maybe we just need to grant grace, be an instrument of peace.

I wish for you, and for me, and for all of us, the ability to grant grace today. To be able to get to a place of inner peace by taking a deep breath and trying to imagine that someone may be fighting a battle that we cannot see.

We all have scars.