Loving Through My Scars

Some songs come from a wound you’ve carried for so long, you don’t even realize how deep it goes until the words start spilling out. This one rose from that place — the long road of loving a parent who was broken, and being loved back in ways that were imperfect, complicated, and shaped by pain they never learned how to heal.

I grew up watching my mother fight battles she never had the strength or support to win. She struggled with her own trauma, her own darkness, and there were moments — real moments — where it nearly took her from us. I was just a kid trying to save someone who couldn’t save herself, stepping into roles no child should ever have to fill.

But despite everything, she did love me. She loved me the only way she knew how: through her scars. Through damage she never asked for. Through heartbreak she never resolved. Through pain she carried into every corner of her life, even the corners she tried to protect me from.

This song is written from her voice — the version of her I wish she could have been, the one who could’ve said out loud what she never had the tools to express. The one who knew the weight I carried, and how much of her suffering fell onto my tiny shoulders long before I understood any of it. The one who loved me fiercely, even though her wounds shaped every part of that love.

“Loving Through My Scars” is a way of honoring her —
not the pain she caused,
not the chaos we lived through,
but the humanity beneath it.
The woman who tried.
The mother who hurt.
The heart that didn’t know how to heal, but still kept beating.

It’s forgiveness, compassion, and truth — all wrapped in the voice of the woman who never learned how to say these things herself.

It’s the conversation she and I never got to have.
The love she meant to give.
The apology she couldn’t speak.
And the understanding I eventually found.

She loved me through her scars.
And this song is me loving her back.