This blog post is about…
My stretch marks.
I love you.
I don’t know a woman without them. I don’t really know anyone without them. Yet, the world and I… us… try our hardest to pretend they’re not there.
I’ve had stretch marks on my hips since before I can remember. I must’ve been 9 when I started noticing them. Primarily due to my sensitive skin I remember vividly thinking it was normal, everyone had them.
I think I was lucky, to be able to look at myself at 9 and only see normalcy.
Then I started dancing, and I noticed how my hips didn’t look like the other girls hips. I was curvy and the marks that perturbed from my leotard in ballet class were not common.
In fact, from what I could see, I was the only one with them.
I was ashamed. It was my fault. I ate too much candy, I didn’t come to class enough, I didn’t eat well enough, I didn’t do enough, my body wasn’t enough…
My body wasn’t enough.
Stretch marks are weird, I don’t think they go away. I don’t think they should go away. At the age of 10 I learned what it was to have them and for that to be different. At the age of 29 I learned what it was to accept them and for that to be the same as everyone else.
They’re beautiful marks cascading down my hips and thighs, adding to the story of my life.
I wear them proudly and I love every last one.
Comments? What did you say “I love you” too this week? Let me know in the comments below!