This post is no longer for me because I've loved my stretch marks for a while now, so much, that I couldn't even remember how it felt ever hating them.
But my best friend, @karynjanice, had just learned to love hers and I was so touched and proud of her so I decided to dedicate this post to her (and to the many others who still struggle with the thought their beauty marks).
"When I first met you, it felt like my world was crumbling.
I was insecure, and certain that your bold red will forever define my worth.
You made me feel like my body was faulty, like I outgrew what was “expected of me”.
So I did everything I could to make you go away—weird ointments, different lotions, and even chose to turn the fork at dinner. But you didn’t falter, you stayed.
At first, you were a constant reminder that I am inadequate—that my body will never measure up.
But years later, I have finally made my peace with you and even grew to love you.
Years later, you became a constant reminder that my body will always make room for me.
Years later, you taught me that beauty should never be as shallow and arbitrary as the number on scale, or the size tag behind my shirt.
Years later, you reminded me that food is fuel, not foe.
Years later, you gave me my first real connection to my body; my first sign of acceptance, acknowledging that she is ever-changing.
Years later, loving you became a sign of progress; a sign that I no longer depend on my weight to find my worth.
Today, I can honestly admit that I’m glad you stuck around.
Thank you for making me feel at home with my own body. For staying when I wanted you to leave, and for coloring me with beautiful marks of growth and progress. I wouldn’t be here without you, and I can’t wait until everyone can love you the same."