I do not like my stretch marks, I never have. The unflattering lines dance across my body, a waltz of imperfection. The mirror is unkind to me, my zig-zags of insecurities exposed. My hips, my waist, my arms alike, are cloaked to avoid any unforeseen gaze.
Then I had a revelation, these marks are not foreigners, they are a part of nature. They are a part of me. They are a sign of change and growth. Whether they are from growing taller, growing wider, or growing a human, stretch marks tell a story. They remind us of how resilient our bodies can be and how we continue to evolve.
I see my stretch marks and I see proof of valor from the God of thunder himself. Instead of resisting, I embrace the tiny branches. But, I still keep the cocoa butter on-site.