I love my stretch marks and my hernia scars. These are my memories. Edan knows that my scares are his scares, and my life is told in many ways through those scars. They show the trauma of love lost and love gained, of hope and joy, and pain and sorrow.

People always talk of beauty, here is a beauty. I may not have the ripped abs of an athlete, or the perfect waist of a child free twenty something or even the forty something cougar. But I have a love of life, a love of people and a devotion to those that were a part, product and support of my journey to stretch marks. In the way we cherish natural blondes and bright green eyes and all the other glamourous images of beauty, why not the underside of beauty. Often I think that those who are responsible for determining what is beautiful to the general public are working from a lack of experience or understanding.

Birth and love are painful and amazing. Both come with their own trials and tribulations, both are socially accepted as beautiful. Why not my stretch marks, why not my imperfections? Is not my confidence in them what makes them beautiful. I embrace them, they are a part of me.

And though they remind me of better times, they give me strength and courage to go through the pain, and to keep trying, to keep pushing, and to keep loving.