The scars, bravery, stupidity and pain – the stories they tell

The quote, “I like the scars because I like the stories. Bravery, stupidity, pain – none of them come free,” captures a truth many people only grasp after life has bruised them thoroughly. Scars – whether etched on the skin or buried deep in memory – are records of encounters with reality. They are evidence that something happened, that a moment demanded a response and that a choice was made. To like scars is not to glorify suffering, but to recognise that growth is rarely gentle and that meaning often emerges from difficulty rather than comfort.

Scars are, in many ways, the opposite of perfection. They interrupt smooth skin, tidy narratives and linear timelines. Yet they carry an honesty perfection lacks. A scar tells us that the body healed after being broken, that survival followed damage. The same holds true for emotional and psychological scars. They mark places where fear was confronted, loss endured or foolishness taught lessons wisdom could never have delivered in advance. To appreciate scars is to accept that becoming fully human involves risk, error and pain.

Bravery is often romanticised as boldness without consequence, as if courage were a clean act untouched by aftermath. In reality, courage almost always leaves a mark. It is speaking when silence would be safer, standing alone when conformity would be easier, or choosing principle over comfort. Such decisions rarely pass unnoticed. They invite resistance, misunderstanding, and sometimes punishment. The scars left behind are reminders that courage is costly, but also that fear was not allowed the final word. In this sense, scars become quiet medals—not awarded in ceremonies, but earned in private moments of resolve.

Stupidity, too, plays its role in the story of scars. This is not the stupidity of malice, but the very human tendency to misjudge, to trust too easily, or to believe we are exceptions to the rules governing others. Many scars are born from decisions made without full knowledge or foresight. Yet even these marks serve a purpose. They teach humility. They remind us that intelligence alone does not shield us from error, and that wisdom is often the residue left behind after mistakes have been survived. To deny these scars would be to deny the lessons they carry.

Pain is perhaps the most honest contributor to scars. Pain interrupts life, demands attention, and refuses to be ignored. It strips away illusions and forces confrontation with reality. While pain is never desirable in itself, it is often transformative. It clarifies priorities, deepens empathy, and reshapes perspective. Those who have known pain tend to recognise it in others, responding with gentleness rather than judgment. The scars pain leaves behind can become bridges, connecting one person’s suffering to another’s understanding.

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Stories, as the quote suggests, are inseparable from scars. Every scar has a narrative, whether spoken aloud or held in silence. Some stories are told with laughter, others with hesitation, and some never leave the heart of the person who carries them. What matters is not how dramatic the story sounds, but how it has shaped the teller. Scars give stories weight. They anchor abstract ideas like resilience and perseverance in lived reality. Without them, stories risk becoming shallow, detached from the cost that gives them meaning.

In a world obsessed with smoothness, success, and flawlessness, scars are often hidden or explained away. Social narratives celebrate achievement without struggle and outcomes without process. Yet this denial creates fragile identities—selves unprepared for failure, uncertainty, or loss. Embracing scars, by contrast, fosters resilience. It allows individuals to say, “This hurt, but it did not end me,” and to carry that knowledge into new challenges. Scars become proof not of weakness, but of endurance.

There is also a moral dimension to scars. They cultivate compassion. Someone who has been wounded understands vulnerability. Someone who has failed knows the weight of disappointment. Scars soften arrogance and temper judgment. They remind us that everyone is fighting battles that may not be visible, and that kindness is often the most appropriate response. In this way, scars do not only shape personal stories; they influence how people relate to the world around them.

To like scars, then, is not to seek harm or glorify recklessness. It is to recognise that a life without scars would be a life untested, untouched by depth or daring. Bravery, stupidity, and pain do not come free because they are transactions with reality itself. They demand payment in discomfort, loss, and vulnerability. What they offer in return are stories rich with meaning, character forged under pressure and a self that has been proven rather than merely imagined.

In the end, scars are not just reminders of where we have been; they are guides for where we go next. They caution without paralysing, teach without preaching, and testify to survival without boasting. To like them is to make peace with the truth that becoming whole often involves being broken first – and that the stories worth telling are rarely written without cost.

By Ashford Kimani

Ashford – the Dean of Studies – teaches English and Literature in Gatundu North Sub-county.