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"A woman's worst fear is a scar on her face…."

That line, from a random social media post, hit me hard, even as I was going through what felt like a truly terrifying health scare.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start where my journey began: with a work wellness day.

Watch: Is there enough talk around sun safety? Post continues below.

Here at Mamamia, we are offered two wellness days a year to book in our health checks. Leading from the front, I finally booked my first ever skin check.

I wasn't overly worried, I'd always been careful with sunscreen, but we all know — or perhaps we don't — that protecting yourself requires more than just a layer of SPF.

The spot.

At the dermatologist's office, she asked about a specific spot on my face. It wasn't particularly dark or raised, but it was misshapen.

I had noticed it a while ago, and a friend had pointed it out, but being 42 and with time moving so quickly, I couldn't say if it had been three months or three years; I only knew it was recent.

The dermatologist noted that at my age, I shouldn't be getting new spots and I needed to be more vigilant with self-checking.

She took a photo and asked me to return in three months.

When I returned for the check-up, she compared the images. To my naked eye, there was no difference, but she could see a subtle change—the shape had shifted.

She did a quick biopsy right then and there, which left me with a lovely medical pad to wear on my face as I went about my day.

The results came back concerning.

While they weren't the worst-case flags, there were enough signals to recommend removing the spot entirely for a full test. I was referred to a plastic surgeon who, kindly, reassured me: "Better to be safe than sorry, it's likely nothing serious."

The first operation and the wait.

I booked my hospital visit for mid-December. Since they required me to stay completely still for 45 minutes, I opted for an assisted local anaesthetic—a really lovely sleep where you wake up with the job done.

The post-op instructions meant no exercise, no swimming, and no make-up for a while as the wound healed. Not great timing for an Australian summer, but important, I knew.

The plan was to wait for the results and hope for nothing sinister. Because of the Christmas break, the results took longer than normal, making those few weeks a weird experience. I was glad I had done it, and I told myself I didn't care about the inevitable scar. It was on my jawline; makeup could cover it easily.

After I took the dressing off, but before the stitches came out, one kind lady at my local supermarket stopped me to ask if I was okay. I explained what had happened, and she immediately apologised for bringing it up.

But then I saw that social media post: "A woman's worst fear is a scar on her face."

I felt a flash of anger that someone decided what a woman's deepest fear should be, but then I felt truly low. Will people stare at it? I asked myself.

Even though I knew it would heal to almost nothing, it would be there. I covered it with makeup and started the scar therapy process, all while knowing that if the results were bad, the wound would need to be reopened.

The diagnosis.

In mid-January, the plastic surgeon called.

"I'm really sorry," he said, "but it is an Insitu melanoma."

That meant going back in to take a little more—a second procedure. The goal was hopefully a similar cut and scar, and most importantly, big, fat negative results.

I was about to leave for a holiday to my favourite beachside town in the world, Forster Tuncurry, where I planned to play golf, swim, and go for many walks — lots of time in the sun. As soon as I hung up, I researched the best sunscreens and bought every highly-rated one at Chemist Warehouse.

Listen: Tammy Hembrow's first-ever detailed discussion about her melanoma diagnosis. Post continues below.

While I was away, I was obsessively diligent and wore the fancy new bucket hat my husband bought me for Christmas. What genuinely shocked me, however, was the number of young girls walking around with obvious sunburn and tan lines.

Girls, please don't do it.

You don't want to be laying there getting these things cut out if you can avoid it.

A couple of weeks later, I went in for the second procedure. I was far more stressed this time, perhaps because I was taking it more seriously, or maybe because I felt one step closer to truly bad news. Post-procedure, I was more self-conscious, covering up the wound and stitches more than I did the first time.

Then, on my 43rd birthday, I went in to get my stitches removed.

While I was there, I received the excellent news: the follow-up test showed no melanoma. I was in the clear. I was elated. It so easily could have been the opposite, but it wasn't. I was lucky.

Reflecting on it all, and that social media post, I've made a decision.

The scar, even when it eventually settles down and barely noticeable to the naked eye, will be my constant, beautiful reminder to wear sunscreen and to remind others to do the same. I won't be ashamed of it.

My biggest fear is not a scar. A much, much bigger fear is dying of cancer. Not being able to do the things I love, to live out my days, to travel, to see a thousand more concerts, to see my son grow into adulthood and make his way in this world, is far, far worse.

If you made it this far, please wear sunscreen.

Please take care of your skin.

Buy each other sunscreen for Christmas and birthdays.

Find shady spots to sit together.

Cover up.

Get your skin checks.

And lastly, if you've got a beautiful scar, don't hate it. It's there… but so are you.

Feature Image: Supplied.