Self-Love by way of Stretch Marks

Hello, my name is Akilah, and I have stretch marks. Lots and lots of stretch marks.

I'm so grateful to my bloggy homegirl Ms. Bar B over at Notes to Emma for her beautifully inspiring post.  Maybe it's because I work from this insanely wonderful Macbook Pro, but somehow I was able to draw strength, right through my screen, from Ms. Bar B's insight and perspective.  Now I'm sharing my battle scars with the freakin universe, because dammit, they exist, and I'm so frustrated and truth be told, ashamed about the angst they cause me every time I see them.

I call them my battle scars because the journey to motherhood was not a given for me.  I had a myomectomy to remove eight large fibroid tumors when I was 25 years old.  Because of the size of the fibroids and where they rested in my uterus, my doctor had to do quite a bit of slicin' and dicin' to get those bad boys out.  He explained to me that because of the incisions, though I'd likely have no trouble getting pregnant, staying pregnant would be another issue altogether.  He wasn't sure whether my sliced uterus would be able to manage the weight of a fetus past the first trimester.

I got a second opinion.  They concurred with my surgeon.  I was devasted, but after several talks with Kris about the meaning of family, and after his insistence that we are complete together, and he could have children with anyone, but he'd rather have me if there had to be a choice, I settled into the idea that adoption was in fact an option, and that I was blessed to have my health.

Well, six years and two successful pregnancies later, Marley and Sage-Niambi are in da buildin', and so are my numerous and permanent battle scars.  Oddly enough, after my first pregnancy, I had only a few marks.  Oh, but when Gangsta Boo (aka Sage) left the scene, she left her marks, quite literally! 

After I read Ms. Bar B's post, I got all excited about doing my own You Have Lines post. But a day went by, and I punked out, thinking "Hello, what the hell?! Why would you put yourself out there like that and show your ugly belly?'  And then I cried.

• I cried because I had been referring to a part of my own self as ugly.  
• I cried because I have daughters, and I would move mountains to make sure they didn't beat up on themselves for any reason, especially not one that stemmed from such beautiful journeys, their births.  
• I cried because I am their teacher, and they see right through me, so how dare I practice anything other than full-on self love!  

Then I remembered that I'm human, and that I have the opportunity to re-train myself in a way that best suits my fullest version of self.  I'm in pretty good shape, I exercise at least twice per week, and I'm healthy.  I will redirect my thoughts from judgment to appreciation.  This post is the start of that, and so it needs to be shared.

So tell me, have you been judging your battle scars?  What about your big butt, or your little butt, or your skinny ankles, or your less-than-perfect skin, or your crooked teeth, or your inability to solve mathematical equations...etc, etc.  Transition from judgment to appreciation with me today, won't you?