To overcome my insecurities, I talk louder than my stretch marks, reiterating the things I really need to hear. I tell myself not to worry when I take off my shirt. Others can stare if they want. I tell myself I deserve whole, unbridled love, and I don't need the validation of others to earn it. I tell myself I'm not damaged merchandise after all, but instead someone with good character and a meaningful history.
Strangers ask what happened, and I proudly offer them the uplifting words I hear in my own head: I'm a warrior. That these are marks of bravery, strength, and resilience. That I've literally earned my stripes. That once upon a time, a frightened little boy faced a terrible ordeal, and instead of giving up, he fought back and won. And that’s how I learned to love my lines.
