Quick link: I Know I Should Boast about My Battle Scars
What if I don’t want to brag about my jiggly belly? What if I refuse to post belly selfies? Social media makes me feel like we have to bare all and love it, or that if we wish we didn’t have stretch marks that means we don’t love our kids. I totally disagree and wrote about it for Brain Child Magazine.
So, this is NOT me, NOT my belly or my child, NOT how things looked while I was pregnant. We were more of the sweaty walrus variety. But this is how we’re told to feel and be during pregnancy, isn’t it? By ‘those people,’ the ones ‘out there’ on social media.
I know I’m supposed to boast about my scars, stretch marks, and shape.
I’m supposed to be empowered by naked selfies.
I don’t boast and I’m not empowered or posting those naked selfies (I’m not even taking them).
I have a stomach that looks like a saggy raisin. I never really had the chance to feel good about my body. I got pregnant at 21-years old, before I had grown into the idea of loving my size and shape. I was still in the high school and college years of hating it all, of never being thin enough or strong enough or having the right size ass or big enough boobs.
And then pregnancy changed my stomach permanently (the big enough boobs didn’t last long and leaked milk so they weren’t exactly what I’d hope for). The pregnancy was twins, it went full-term, I looked like a walrus. My skin stretched until it couldn’t stretch anymore and so it started coming apart, cracking open new seams that would never go back together, pushing the elasticity of young skin up to and then beyond the point of no return…
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