For most people, summer means freedom — shedding layers, beach days, sun-soaked holidays, and carefree afternoons by the pool. But for me, growing up with second- and third-degree burns across my neck and torso, summer meant something entirely different: exposure.
I used to dread the warmer months. Holidays, heatwaves, even sunny weekends in the park – they all brought on the same internal panic. The thought of people seeing my scars, of really seeing me, felt unbearable. I was convinced they’d think I looked “ugly.” That they’d stare. Whisper. Judge.
When I was younger, I clung to the hope that as I grew older, my scars would fade. But instead, they grew with me. What felt small at age five stretched and expanded across my skin by the time I hit my teens. They didn’t vanish – they evolved. Instead, I shrank.
I wanted to feel strong in my skin, not in spite of my visible difference, but with it.
While friends confidently went shirtless in the heat, I’d stay in the shade, clutching at vests or T-shirts like armour. At the beach or pool, I became an expert in distraction: diving into the water before anyone could really look, staying submerged for as long as possible, even covering myself with sand to avoid being fully seen. I envied those who moved through these spaces like their bodies were never up for debate. Accepting my body as a man with scars felt impossible.
For a long time, I tried to disappear in plain sight. Until I couldn’t anymore.
In the past few years, something shifted. I started working out — not because I wanted to hide my scars, but because I wanted to take ownership of my body. I wanted to feel strong in my skin, not in spite of my visible difference, but with it. And slowly, I began to show up differently.
I started going topless more. First in private, then in public. And you know what? People barely reacted. No horror. No mockery. If anything, those who asked questions did so with genuine curiosity — they wanted to understand my story, not erase it. That honesty felt deeply humbling.
Your body is yours. Your story is valid. You are not less because you carry the marks of survival.
That growing confidence led to topless modelling opportunities, and campaigns I’m proud to be part of — including A Face for Radio and My Body is a Masterpiece with Changing Faces. They helped me see myself through a different lens. Not as someone to be hidden, but as someone who could empower others just by standing in their truth.
That doesn’t mean it’s always easy. There are still days when I hesitate, when the heat rises but I stay covered. And that’s okay. Healing and confidence aren’t linear — they’re ongoing. What matters most is knowing that I define my visible difference. It doesn’t define me.
To anyone out there who’s felt the sting of summer in a different way — who’s sat by the pool in layers or avoided a holiday invite altogether, I see you. Your body is yours. Your story is valid. You are not less because you carry the marks of survival.
Wear your skin like a statement, not a secret.
