“Would you love me less if I had a giant scar across my face?”
I stared blankly at my husband for a minute and thought to myself, “How could he even ask that?” Of course, if my husband somehow got a large scar on his face or any part of his body, it would, in no way, affect how much I love him.
So why exactly do I feel like I need to apologize every time I take my shirt off in front of him?
large giant babies, and when I’m pregnant, my stomach gets as big as a normal woman when she is carrying twins. There is plenty of research that says it’s all genetic, stretch marks, that is. I have stretch marks. Well, not just marks. They certainly look nothing like the stretch marks women proudly display in pictures plastered all over the internet. Mine are rippled, dimpled, doughy looking scars that now cover my flabby, loose-skinned stomach, and for that, I apologize every time my husband sees them.
I wish I was writing a self-confidence post. I wish I could tell you that they are my tiger stripes that I fiercely earned or my motherhood battle scars, but this isn’t and they aren’t. I think platitudes like that hurt especially bad because I see thousands of moms who have carried multiple children and have just as much or even more experience with the battle of motherhood, but no post-baby body disfigurement to go along with it. I’m also guessing those moms don’t lie in bed wishing they had the scars to prove they are some kind of mother tiger, but I lie in bed wishing I didn’t. No, this isn’t a self-confidence post.
Instead, I am going to tell you this: No matter what it is that you try desperately to hide from your loved ones, you can’t hide it and they don’t care about it. You don’t have to love your body or embrace your imperfections, you do not have to pretend like it doesn’t bother you, but you also do not have to be ashamed of your body in front the people closest to you, the people who matter most.
Your kids do not care if your skin starts to sag, your sister doesn’t like you less because you have cellulite on your butt, your parents aren’t any less proud of you because you can no longer squeeze into your skinny jeans, and in this instance, my husband doesn’t love me any less because I have scars stretching across my stomach. I’ve been apologizing to him for the way my body looks for years, and all it took was one simple question to turn my thoughts around.
“Would you love me less if I had a giant scar across my face?” After a dumbfounded minute, I responded, “No, of course I wouldn’t.”
He replied, “Well, then stop apologizing, I am not going to tell you again. I don’t care. I don’t even think about it.”