“I love every stretch mark on my body. It reminds me of the kind of power I have within me, and what I went through to carry my children.”
Excuse me while I call b u l l s h i t.
Well – speaking for myself, anyways. B U L L – S H I T.
I would give almost anything to not have stretch marks all over my: thighs, waist, hips, breasts, arms – you name it – they seem to be everywhere. Almost anything. (And don’t get me started on cellulite. Or, what one of my sister’s calls “cottage cheese.”)
Now, with softness, I recognize that much of this bodily makeup I could not escape. In part it’s likely genetics, and in part it has something to do with widening out my waistband by about 20-40lbs per pregnancy. Whatever parts make it up, it’s also emotionally exhausting.
For many Mamas, not only do we carry the darn things for nearly a year, then give birth to them – sometimes excruciatingly so – and perhaps nurse them (which also means our nipples surely will never be the same again), but then we have the constant reminders on our physical planes about the experience. For life!
Before this becomes solely about my after-preggo-mom-bod blog post, I actually earned many of my earliest stretch marks when I was 14 years old. My weight fluctuated significantly between freshman and sophomore year of high school after a bad breakup (oh, first puppy romance). I decided to give in to what many might call ‘emotional eating’ after the devastating end. I was so sad. Truly, SO sad. Like the tears-falling-constantly, homework-proving-challenging, asking-my-mom-to-come-into-my-room-and-rub-my-back, kind of Sad. I wouldn’t have admitted the depths of it then, though I certainly exhibited some depressive and suicidal thoughts with my guidance counselor (after my ex adoringly expressed his own concerns to her). I also ate and ate and ate and didn’t move like I had in my initial years of field hockey and lacrosse; I gained several pounds as well as several stretch marks.
I was so embarrassed by them (still am sometimes if being totally honest), and wearing shorts made me cringe. Then I realized I had some also at the crooks of my knees and under my arms, I figured, “Great. I’ll guess I’ll be wearing a tent the rest of my life.”
It’s hard enough being 14 and broken up with, with whom you sweetly thought you’d spend forever, but then to add insult to injury by way of physical marks? Oy. Followed by even more doses of internalized body-shaming per the issues of my Seventeen Magazine or pressures put on young actresses in TV shows like Full House and Boy Meets World.
Social media these days seems to perpetuate that stigma of “look this specific way,” and it is terrifying as both an individual and as a Mother to two growing children. This ranges, of course, from those who lean out immediately post-baby, and those who lean into the notion that they LOVE their body no matter its texture postpartum.
And – I applaud the efforts others make when they recognize their bellies as comfort, their breasts as nourishment, their thighs as chairs for small bodies to sit. I DO believe in the power of my body. Certainly more than I did at 14. I DO believe in the biological insanity that is pregnancy and childbirth. I mean, it’s really quite amazing.
And – I still wish my stretch marks would go away.
I’m not denying my strength, my body’s wisdom in shifting its structure to sustain me or supply for my kids. I am purely moving from an ego-driven aesthetic in this wish.
And – it’s just a wish.
You may have another, and yours may be very different. You might not have any wish about changes to your body whatsoever.
Sans genie, what I will choose to do is speak to my body. To its essence. I will allow my kids to know the names of & ask questions about ‘little white marks’ when we’re playing outside in the grass, toweled up at the beach, or changing into our morning’s clothes after a shower. I will speak to what things are. What their functions are, as well as debunking incredulous societal expectations of what our bodies are “supposed” to look like.
What I will choose to do is to honor my body.
What I will choose to do is appreciate my body.
What I will choose to do is inhabit my body with kindness and care.
It’s really the only place I have to live. May as well learn to accept its décor.