All photos of Kara by Mallory Taglia

My body is far from perfect. I have put it through the ringer. Stretch marks from 2 children, bumps and bruises from sports, and a few surgeries along the way. I never realized how important my body was until I was 16 and it took the beating of a lifetime.

October 11, 2001 everything changed for me and my body. I was involved in an accident that burned 30% of my body, mainly my legs. My legs took the brunt of the fire but my left shoulder and about half of my neck was burned as well. There is no way to describe the physical pain I experienced. There are no words that can be used. I do not remember most of what happened or my hospital stay but I do remember the pain. I have watched skin fall from my body and I do not mean to be graphic, it is just the truth. I am getting emotional as I write this because this is something that stays with me. Not just the physical pain but the emotional pain as well.

My first hospital stay lasted 19 days. I was on various pain killers and struggled to walk even using a walker. I never thought I would have to force my legs to move forward. I never thought walking down a hallway would become a chore. My body physically was exhausted and required much recuperation. Unfortunately after being released from the hospital I needed to have skin grafts done. My skin was not growing back as expected and I was beginning to form a lot of scar tissue. I spent a week in the hospital recovering from surgery. My body was taking a beating. I had staples in my legs and the skin graft spot, felt like being burned all over again. I was beginning to feel helpless, hopeless, and completely humiliated. I never thought I would have so many doctors and people look at my body and examine it. I didn’t really feel like a person anymore. I mean it is tough being 16 and just trying to figure out who you are, deal with hormones, boys, and acne. That is enough to for a girl to deal with. On top of that I had to deal with surgeries, doctor appointments, and people staring at me like I was a freak. I tried my best to hide my scars as much as I could. I wore long pants all the time and scarves around my neck. I found make up that would help conceal my scars some. I fell into a pretty deep depression. I didn’t want to go out in public and I didn’t want to leave my couch. I no longer felt pretty. I felt like ugly and I felt like a victim. After the skin graft surgery I saw a plastic surgeon to look at some of my scars. I needed to have scar revision surgery. The scars on my neck were inhibiting some movement and stuck out pretty far. I refused to wear compressions on my neck which is why the scarring was worse. I also had a scar on my left knee that was inhibiting movement as well. That was my third surgery. I had a balloon inserted above my left knee to expand skin to be able to pull down when I had the scar on my knee revised. That was my fourth surgery. This all happened over the course of 2 years. For 2 years I had surgeries, basically learned to walk again, and was in and out of physical therapy.

I couldn’t look at my scars or my body. I would tear up looking in mirrors or looking at pictures before the accident. It was so hard to see myself as beautiful. The stares did not help either. I still covered myself as much as possible to avoid that. Slowly I started feeling better about my scars. There is no defining moment where I was like bam I am beautiful. I do remember my first step though. I was taking a communications course at college and we were asked to do an introduction speech about ourselves. We had to bring 3 things to class and explain why they were our favorite items. I think I shocked the class when I lifted up my pants and showed them my scars. My legs were one of my favorite items. No one had my legs. In fact one of my nephews called them “fancy legs”. I stopped wearing scarves in public and started wearing skirts again. I did still cover my neck with my hand when talking to people. It was still hard seeing someone’s eyes shift from my face to my neck. It has been a process. Sometimes I took 12 steps forward but then 20 steps back. I am 29 now and there are still days I struggle with feeling beautiful. There aren’t as many though. What has happened is I can look in a mirror and not see my scars anymore. I can look at my body and see beauty in my scars. I look at my legs and don’t see skin grafts and “normal” skin. I see just my legs. No one has my story, it is MY story. No one has my scars, they are MY scars. There are others who are burn survivors. I am a SURVIVOR. One day my children might ask why my legs look a little different and I will tell them what happened. I will also tell them that imperfections are beautiful. My scars do not define who I am they are just part of who I am. It is the scars, whether it is physical, emotional or whatever, that make people beautiful. Each individual story is beautiful. They have taught me important lessons. I am not hopeless, helpless, or humiliated anymore. I am hopeful that every 16 year old girl and every woman sees their beauty. Every bump, bruise, surgery, and scar tell my story. I am not going to lie, it is hard sometimes getting those stares still. If I got a do over I would look in the mirror a lot sooner. I would see my body as MY body not just my scars. I would see what my nephew saw; I would see my “fancy legs”.