The Scars that Divide Us: What Self-Harm Really Means and What We Can Do to Help

I’m having coffee with a new friend when suddenly he catches sight of the thick vertical scars running down the inside of my left forearm. His own arm shoots forward, finger pointing, and, with wide eyes, he asks, “What’s that?”

Perhaps he thinks there’s an exciting story behind the wounds I gouged into my own arm one night with a kitchen knife — a fight, or a maybe a dramatic accident. Or perhaps he knows exactly what he’s looking at and is about to deliver the most common response to signs of self-harm: to dismiss them as attention-seeking behaviour, as something embarrassing and pathetic.

Anybody who’s cut themselves can predict what happens next: a cascade of emotions as I try to figure out my response. There are a few possibilities. I can get defensive: “Well, what the fuck do you think they are?”. Or I can lie to him: “Oh, nothing — they’re burns I got years ago.” (Unconvincing.) Alternatively, I can calmly tell him the truth: “Depression. I’ve cut myself during some difficult times.”

Whatever the reaction, normal service has been suspended and something very uncomfortable suddenly has to be addressed. Even if the scars no longer hurt, the feelings behind them still do. More importantly, this isn’t a conversation I want to have at a moment’s notice…