My mum cried the first time we talked on the phone after she found out I’d been cutting (I was at boarding school, started cutting just before winter break, so this was when I was in transit home), something I can’t remember EVER happening before. She thought she’d failed me. When she first saw the scars (pretty much nothing compared with what was to come), that’s sorta how she reacted. But after that, she rarely showed how upset she was because she knew that wasn’t what I needed (at this point I was living at home and would cry when I came out of it and realized what I’d done). She was/is my biggest advocate. I have a really bad one on my upper arm where I cut through the fat layer, and I was very self conscious of it, especially cause close friends and family are gonna inquire about such an obvious injury. I mentioned this, so we sat down and came up with responses that weren’t technically lies. Went with ‘I was a horseback rider’, implying that’s what caused it but really just making a statement (also I have a few scars that ARE from when I could still ride; doing a cross country course on the trails bareback is just asking for cuts and bruises, but damn if it isn’t a blast). I have a fairly visible line of scars on my thigh almost to my knee, ones that can’t really be mistaken for anything but what they are. We lived on Vancouver Island and went out in the boat for a month or two in the summer and weekend trips all the time. We now live in Florida. Even a one piece wasn’t going to save me. Again, was feeling extremely self conscious. Mum reminded me I didn’t owe anyone answers, and that to realize it HAD to be from cutting, you had to be reeeal close (thankfully those scars are partially keloid but healed white, and I burn rather than tan, so as long as I didn’t lobster myself, they blend), and anyone staring in the general direction of my butt - to which said thigh is attached - trying to get that close, would not fly; my dad and/or brother would remove them forcibly if necessary, and humiliating them is fair game (I was 19 at the time, but looked younger -less than a year later a hospital receptionist thought I was 12- and staring at what appears to be an underage girl in a bikini isn’t a good look on anyone).
Any time I was self conscious of them, she’d help me come up with a solution, whether it was hiding them, disguising them, or baring them to the world. She’s the reason I’m not self conscious of them anymore. I can walk down a busy street on a holiday weekend in a bikini top and short shorts no problem, and have.
Maybe talk to her? Explain like you did for us? And regarding your brother, I imagine once he’s seen them a few times his brain will just register them as part of you. Kind of like how when you have braces you get to the point that you forget you have braces and having them taken off is weird?
Honestly, in this scenario your physical discomfort (meeeelting), outweighs any mental discomfort they may have. It’s fairly unlikely a scar removal miracle procedure will be invented/discovered any time soon, so I guess the real question is are you going to wear long sleeves around your family for the rest of your life? Cause even if/when it fades, they’ll still know it’s there.
I hope this was helpful in some way, please excuse the rambling and such, ADHD meds still ducked up.