I also used to be very wary and embarrassed of my stretchmarks. They started to appear around my twelfth birthday, when I was growing into a woman. The dark purple and pink lines took to my breasts, my hips, and my thighs. I was mortified. I remember thinking I did not want to ever get pregnant for fear of more scars.
It was my first pregnancy at thirty that was as turning point for me and my scars. More appeared as my ever-changing and growing belly blossomed, new life stirring within. Pregnancy and childbirth have brought so many scars both emotional and physical, yet the power that those scars have as melted in time.
I love my scars because:
1. They tell the story of my life. My very first scar—my belly button—reminds me daily of the intimate connection I have always had with my mother throughout my entire life. This intimate connection formed the basis of my healthy sexual expression as an infant through intimate connection and bonding.
2. The emotional scars and fear that the stretchmarks held tight within them melted as I came to peace with the awesome power of my body, my Shakti, or divine feminine, the lines like those of a lucky woman, scoring off another day I have survived based on my own will and support of those around me.
3. The scarring from childbirth on my labia, the primal power and strength I did not realize the potential of until I became pregnant and delivered my daughter. The core of my power, my sexual energy, helping me deliver baby into the world through sheer might, and intuition, the tears and later scarring badges of a job well done.
4. The stretch marks on my breasts from pregnancy and nursing, the result of nourishing and sustaining two babies through life. Breastfeeding laid the foundation for my children to be sexually healthy adults by demonstrating bonding, intimacy, and meeting their sensuality needs through skin-to–skin contact.
Each of my scars tells a story of a battle hard won but worth fighting for.