I’m grateful for how my body grew to accommodate me; more specifically, stretchmarks.
I know you’re probably rolling your eyes, but hear me out.
They showed up, I don’t know, pre-teens, I think. I say this like they just walked into the building unannounced, but they kind of did. Didn’t they?
I was always the chubbiest kid in any group. They showed up early. It seems like one day I didn’t have them, and then I did.
At first, it’s so…final. So…permanent. So…there.
I want to barter with the universe. I’ll give you back ALL the late night pepperoni hot pockets and beef ramen cups, if you take them back?
The Universe doesn’t respond.
I’ll cry! You hate to see me cry, don’t you?
The Universe doesn’t respond.
I mourn.
The Universe doesn’t respond.
And then they are so…angry. So red.
Or maybe I’m angry, so I’m projecting that onto them.
But we’ve been together over 15 years now, and it went how it usually does.
Breasts.
Arms.
Thighs.
Knees.
Love Handles.
And I promise myself…I’ll do the work. I will get it right. I won’t get ANY more.
But I got bigger. And there were more.
So, there I was. And there they were.
And….here we are now.
I hated them for a long long long time.
A deep sadness ran in me for something that couldn’t be undone.
Like their appearance diminished everything good about me. Like I was no longer a daughter, a sister, a cousin, a best friend, a friend, a college graduate, the list goes on and on.
And if someone saw them – it’d be social suicide.
But as time went on – I saw them on other people, and they just didn’t look ugly to me ON THEM, just on me.
The angry colors faded and so did my hate.
It turned into acceptance.
And eventually it was like a mole or a freckle or a battle scar.
I used to think it made my body…not soft. Not worthy of being touched.
But sometimes, late at night, right before I drift off, I run my hands over my stomach.
It made me softer.
And dare I say, more interesting.
I lived through something.
I’m still fighting it today.
But now I see fireworks, lightning, thunder striking the earth, shooting stars, hidden paths on a map.
I’m STILL me.
And if someone EVER tried to talk down to me about my stretchmarks, they’d get ghosted like the Universe ghosted me when I was trying to trade them out for something better.
One of my favorite Cheryl Strayed quotes is –
“How wild it was, to let it be.”
And honestly, it really IS wild.
I spent so much time thinking self-hate and negativity would get me somewhere GOOD.
It never did.
So, I’m trying this self-love, self-acceptance, and positivity thing…and I’m growing.
I’m watering the dirt. Flowers are blooming.
I hope that right before you drift off to sleep tonight, you take a moment and just touch your stretchmarks.
Literally touch yourself.
How soft. How magical.
How there.
How YOU.
–S.
The Messy Middle 🖤 