I read a wonderful essay tonight about finding strength in the scars life has left you. I’ve heard the thought before, but tonight it actually touched my heart. I began to cry while reading it—partially from shame at how I’ve thought about and treated my own body, and partially from relief that there is a different way to think.
As I stepped out of the shower tonight, with the house quiet in the aftermath of bedtime and the subsequent sneaking-out-of-bed rituals, I stood still and looked in the mirror. It’s something I avoid doing unless there’s a reason. I check my breasts monthly in the mirror; I use the mirror to help me remove unwanted hair, cover blemishes, check outfits and hairdos. But rarely do I simply stand naked in front of my mirror and look. It’s not usually a pleasant experience for me. Most women I’ve ever met would probably agree with me. We think we know quite well what we look like, thank you very much. We much prefer the view with the help of clothing and accessories.
But I discovered I was quite wrong about many things. For years, I’ve been ashamed of my scars. Mostly they’re stretch marks. They cover the sides of my breasts, my hips, the tops of my thighs, and most of my abdomen. Most are from pregnancy, but not all. The ones on my breasts and hips started in puberty. That delirious/horrific/beautiful transformation from girl to woman. At the time, I didn’t think much of them. They were tiny and always covered by even the swimsuits I wore.
Years later, when Z-man and I married, the birth-control pills I used caused some changes that resulted in a few more stretch marks. Still nothing I thought much about. Occasionally I’d notice them and grimace a little. But life went on quite well despite them.
During the first rocky years of our marriage, I gained quite a bit of weight, and some more stretch marks. These bothered me more, but since they faded and were hidden when I lost the weight, I was able to shove the thought of them aside as our relationship improved and my joy and contentment increased.
But the long, ragged, and obvious stretch marks, along with other scars, stretching, and changes that came with each pregnancy have been much harder to set aside or come to terms with.
Tonight I got much closer. I stood naked and really looked at my body and the scars it carries. And I listened to the sweet silence of happy children sleeping, and knew the scars were worth it. The ones from Zippy are nearly faded, the ones from Munchkin are mostly white, and the ones from Little Man—the ones that reach up to my ribs and down my legs—are still pink more than a year and a half after he was born. Each stage tells a story, and I can look at them and tell you with some accuracy what was going on and how I felt when they spread to each point.
And for the first time in years I can feel at peace with my body and what I have gained from it.
My hands that look much like my mother’s—even down to veins beginning to show in the same places—link me to her in a tangible, ever-present way that I am grateful for.
My height and slightly unique proportions of leg to torso reflect the strength and power of my father.
The extra weight, the stretched skin, the sagging and drooping and spreading of various parts and places testify that I have lived; I have loved and been loved; I have borne children, held and fed and nurtured them; I have fallen to my knees diving for balls and pleading to my Heavenly Father.
At this moment, on this night, I can truly say, were the chance offered to me, I wouldn’t trade my body for anyone else’s. I will certainly try to become and stay healthy. I will probably lose and gain weight many more times before I am done. I will hide many of the scars, lift the sags, and keep my body private as it should be. But I will also attempt to capture this feeling of peace, of contentment, of acceptance as I move forward through all those things. And I will catalog each new scar or change as proof that I accomplished what I was meant to. That I experienced joy and pain and sorrow and beauty—and lived through it all.
