My body and I have had a love-hate relationship for the majority of my life. My body has loved me, but I spent most of my time hating it. Which, you know, is pretty typical of most women. Not every woman has loved her body, its a journey. It’s an uphill battle to love yourself in all it’s glory.

My self-hatred for the way I looked started when I was very young. My mom used to be married to this jerk who was physically, emotionally and sexually abusive to me. I was 3 years old. I spent every day listening to him telling me that I was ugly. That I was fat. That I would never get anywhere in life. That I would spend my life alone- no one could ever love me. I should just do the world a favor and die.

So I began to hate myself. I hated my body. I was ugly. I was worthless. I was undeserving of love.

Well mom divorced him, and we moved. A new life, a new start.

I started to feel pretty when I got to middle school. I was one of the first girls who got their boobs. Who started their period. I felt like a women. And I was excited!

But then tragedy struck me. I was sexually abused. Again. This time by my friends older brother.

So I hated my body even more. I thought that if I hadn’t ‘blossomed’ it wouldn’t have happened to me.

Then I started self mutilation. (Thankfully the scars of faded over the years so people can’t tell.)

Then I had abusive relationship after abusive relationship. One key point in all of these relationships- I was ugly, I was stupid, I was worthless.

Let’s fast-forward a few years.. My junior year of college, I met the most amazing guy ever.. A man who has shown me love unconditionally, who became my best friend, who taught me the benefits of positive thinking, and the man who showed me that I WAS beautiful, and I am priceless. I am someone worth loving.

We’ve been together two years. And just 3 short weeks ago we had our first child, a boy, a straight up MIRACLE.

This is where my body and I have a fight again. I started out loving every pound that I gained, and every stretch mark that was caused to me- because it meant a big happy and healthy baby. But after I had him, I struggled with accepting the way I looked now. I know I’ll lose the weight that I gained once I’m allowed to start working out again. But the stretch marks are never going to go away.

My son, Logan, tore up my body. Haha! I gained healthy weight, but he destroyed my legs. I didn’t have any stretch marks before I got pregnant. I was a size 3. I had curves, I looked great! But then I started gaining weight, and retaining water, and my legs got bigger.. and now my legs are covered in stretch marks. Not just my legs, mind you, it goes from my butt cheeks all the way down my calves. Bright red/purple and deep.

Ugh. I’m 23 and have stretch marks all the way down my legs.

And I have a nice pretty c-section scar on my bikini line too (emergency c-section due to him being breached)

He tore up my body!

But when I look into his face, and think about how it was IMPOSSIBLE for me to get pregnant, and somehow I did, I stop thinking about how ‘un-sexy’ I am now. Because there are so many women out there who would KILL to have my stretch marks, because that means it would have given them a baby. Each mark just shows the amount of love that I have for him, shows how magical my body was because it carried such precious cargo. One day I’ll show him all these marks, and tell him that I wear them proudly because it brought him to me, a big 8 pound healthy baby (with how big his head was I was lucky I had a c-section!)

Don’t get me wrong, there are still days that I feel down about myself, being young and not being as thin as our friends, or as pretty because I have these stretch marks going everywhere.. But then I look at my son, and I remember that it was all worth it. And that I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.

So this is me, learning every day to love my body exactly the way it is!