I realized recently that I’ve been hiding behind the shield of motherhood as a way of “justifying” why I have stretch marks. I had one myomectomy (fibroid removal surgery) and two C-sections in a six-year period. My body stretched and shrunk to accommodate two perfect little girls who are both today nearly taller than me. I earned dem damn stretch marks!
But I realized I don’t need a reason anymore. I don’t want to justify my shit, I wanna just own it!
Radical Self-Expression work is showing me how to shift my focus away from what I don’t want, over to what I want more of in my life. Stretch marks cannot bind me so damn tightly to fear that I cover myself in case what? In case someone doesn’t like it? In case I don’t look how I think I ‘should’ look? Maaan, there’s to much real shit going on in the world, and so many big dreams I’ve got for my life, that stretch marks can’t stay ‘a thing.’
So now, the stretching I choose to focus on is the type that stretches me out of the confines of my insecurities and into the privileged life of self-acceptance.
It’s basically me learning how to trust myself. And to not compare myself to anyone but my highest vision for my own life.
Now I get the privilege of wearing a bathing suit to the beach and focusing on the actual fucking beach.
Not on how I look to the people outside my body.
Not on whether my ass’s current jiggle level is closer to sexy or stank.
Not on bootie dimples, bikini line hairs, or stretch marks. But present and privileged, grateful and graceful, simply because I am me.
—-Blurred Lines. Excerpt from Radical Self-Expression Manifesto.
My lines read like un-beauty marks, they say,
and they attempt to sell me things to blur my lines,
but fuck your blur, I prefer clear vision, thanks.
And no matter how I stretch,
no matter how many flag lines I make,
I always know to return to myself,
even if that return is not evident on my body.
I practice the art of returning to myself,
without judging and condemning my lines,
and in that practice I begin seeing my lines
for what they are–
Physical sentiments from the journeys I have taken,
and my reminder of my capacity to grow.