mothers with stretch marks

Don’t tell thin women to eat a cheeseburger. Don’t tell fat women to put down the fork. Don’t tell underweight men to bulk up. Don’t tell women with facial hair to wax, don’t tell uncircumcised men they’re gross, don’t tell muscular women to go easy on the dead-lift, don’t tell dark-skinned women to bleach their vagina, don’t tell black women to relax their hair, don’t tell flat-chested women to get breast implants, don’t tell “apple-shaped” women what’s “flattering,” don’t tell mothers to hide their stretch marks, and don’t tell people whose toes you don’t approve of not to wear flip-flops. And so on, etc, etc, in every iteration until the mountains crumble to the sea. Basically, just go ahead and CEASE telling other human beings what they “should” and “shouldn’t” do with their bodies unless a) you are their doctor, or b) SOMEBODY GODDAMN ASKED YOU.
—  Lindy West
Mum tum

If you have been pregnant; you have a mummy tummy. If you’ve carried a child; you have a mummy tummy.

I grew a baby in my tummy, went through 16 hours of labour and then had emergency surgery.

A mum tummy is not a BAD thing. It’s something to be proud of. Pregnancy is hard, labour is hard, induction is hard, birth is hard, a c-section is hard, recovery is hard.

It doesn’t matter what the hell your mum tummy looks like; nothing takes away from the fact that you are a mother.

Your tummy may be covered in stretch marks, big, small, flat, round, you may have lose skin, or super tight skin. You may have awesome love handles; you may have magical curves. You may wish your tummy looked different and fondly remember the way your tummy looked before you became a mother.

But what ever your mum tummy looks like; whatever you feel about your magical body, try to feel proud because that mum tummy of yours is amazing and beautiful and has given you the greatest gift.

Don’t tell thin women to eat a cheeseburger. Don’t tell fat women to put down the fork. Don’t tell underweight men to bulk up. Don’t tell women with facial hair to wax, don’t tell uncircumcised men they’re gross, don’t tell muscular women to go easy on the dead-lift, don’t tell dark-skinned women to bleach their vagina, don’t tell black women to relax their hair, don’t tell flat-chested women to get breast implants, don’t tell “apple-shaped” women what’s “flattering,” don’t tell mothers to hide their stretch marks, and don’t tell people whose toes you don’t approve of not to wear flip-flops. And so on, etc, etc, in every iteration until the mountains crumble to the sea. Basically, just go ahead and CEASE telling other human beings what they “should” and “shouldn't” do with their bodies unless a) you are their doctor, or b) SOMEBODY GODDAMN ASKED YOU.
—  Lindy West
Dear Boys,

If you ever say you won’t date a girl or put her down to the point where she believes she’s ‘disgusting’ because she has stretch marks, just remember how you gave your mother stretch marks and not one of them was worth it because you’re an ungrateful piece of shit. :))

growth marks

white lines wrap around my hips and thighs
intertwining like vines
mother nature paints intricate patterns on my skin
true symbols of growth
i refuse to cover her masterpiece because some people are unable to appreciate the true value of art

- zw
Happy Mother’s Day by @buffalospirit

She looks in the mirror, at the stretch marks, her sagging breasts, and a belly 3 sizes bigger than she would like. And she cries when she sees herself, because she forgets what each mark, each line and every ounce of weight really means. She forgets that she is a Woman, and a Mother, but even more than that, she is a Goddess…

She forgets that inside of her, she created Life. She nourished Life. And she delivered Life out into the Universe. Sacred Souls, spending months at a time inside of her, growing from a simple seed, to a tree that can change the entire World, and has already changed hers.

When she looks in the mirror again, she traces the lines on her belly, and the marks on her hips, and she remembers what they truly mean. The battle scars of birthing a body, carrying a Soul, inside of her, and releasing that creation into a World in need of more Love and more happiness.

And she runs her hands up under her breasts, and lifts them for examination, and remembers the tiny mouths that latched onto her pink and swollen nipples, and sucked the very Life Force from her Goddess Breasts, to begin Life in this World.

And she begins to cry, when she realizes that she is not flawed, but rather, is the most Perfect Soul alive. And her Body, a Beautiful and Sacred reminder of the gifts she has given to the World.

She is a Goddess. And she is a Mother. And she is Beautiful….

Happy Mother’s Day to all of you Sacred Goddesses, who have created such Beautiful Lives and Souls. We, as a World, are forever in your debt.

________________________________________

Thank you, @buffalospirit, for these kind, powerful words and for letting me share them this way.

I am not a Tumblr girl. My size and shape have been changed by putting everything and everyone before me. Maybe I should have found a better balance… I’m starting to now that my nest is almost empty.

One thing that is certain though, I’m grateful for the gift of motherhood. I’ve been blessed by the miracle of carrying and nursing my children. I’ve been humbled by the process of helping them grow into adulthood. I’m happy that they think I’m beautiful as I am.

One of my children took the picture that I’m using for my avatar… said it showed the true color of my eyes… said I looked beautiful… said, “I love you.”

I’m blessed.

Don’t tell thin women to eat a cheeseburger. Don’t tell fat women to put down the fork. Don’t tell underweight men to bulk up. Don’t tell women with facial hair to wax, don’t tell uncircumcised men they’re gross, don’t tell muscular women to go easy on the dead-lift, don’t tell dark-skinned women to bleach their vagina, don’t tell black women to relax their hair, don’t tell flat-chested women to get breast implants, don’t tell “apple-shaped” women what’s “flattering,” don’t tell mothers to hide their stretch marks, and don’t tell people whose toes you don’t approve of not to wear flip-flops. And so on, etc, etc, in every iteration until the mountains crumble to the sea. Basically, just go ahead and CEASE telling other human beings what they “should” and “shouldn't” do with their bodies unless a) you are their doctor, or b) SOMEBODY GODDAMN ASKED YOU.
—  Lindy West
Let’s Chat.

First of all. Tag everyone. Tag the fuck out of every person you can think of. @aprofoundbondwithdean @redlittlefox @little-red-83 @jodyri @andwhenitwasclear @oriona75 @ohfora67impala @flintera @spnfanficpond @sroberts25 and every other human.


Ok, you and I need to have a chat, reader.

This is coming from me, Allie (also known as DK, Alix, or whatever). We need to talk.

I love writing these letters for you guys. Truly. It’s made me happy and I’m not usually a happy person. Knowing that someone out there is smiling because of something I wrote is really all I need in life. Fuck curing cancer, I’m good.

I mean, if you cure cancer though I’d be pretty excited.

I digress.

Let’s talk about you. Let’s talk about the fact that you look in the mirror and don’t see a GORGEOUS, WONDERFUL human being. I have a real goddamn problem with this. I have a problem because at sixteen, fifteen or anything like that, you should NOT be feeling that way about yourself. What I would hope is that at sixteen you’re worrying about whether or not to ask out that person you have a crush on. Not whether your body is perfect.

Do you know how many people have stretchmarks? MILLIONS. BILLIONS. BILLIONS OF PEOPLE HAVE STRETCH MARKS. Just let that sink in for a minute. Just because you can’t see someone else’s doesn’t mean they aren’t there. Think of mothers, with their adoring children, who have stretch marks from pregnancy. Or the young boy who grew super tall super fast and has them on his shoulders. Think of the young girl who developed breasts and hips early and had stretch marks.

When I was sixteen, I was at my lowest weight. I was about 140lbs. For a 5’7 girl that is super normal. Not only that, but I’m curvy so I carried it like a pro. I hated myself, though. At sixteen I was also the most depressed I’ve ever been in my entire life. At my lowest weight I hated myself so much I wanted to die. Depression and anxiety are a killer combo. And no one gave a shit. At sixteen I was alone in the world and at twenty-nine I arguably still am.

But I had stretch marks. On my breasts, and some on my stomach. I thought I was disgusting. Fact of the matter is that these things come regardless. Some folks have thin skin and just fuckin’ get them left right and center. Some folks don’t have them and that’s fine.

And speaking of bodies… jesus can we talk about this? Being thin isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’ve got naturally thin friends who abhor being tiny. They get asshole comments like “Go eat a sandwich” and “you look disgusting” and “stop starving yourself” from everyone. They question their worth as a human because people can’t keep comments to themselves. It hurts. But you know what? Your body is absolutely perfect.

Being curvy also blows. I, personally, am overweight. I see myself as heavy and I’ve done a lot of work to get to a place where I’m happy. But you know what? There are people out there who find me attractive, not despite my weight but because of it. Being heavy doesn’t equate to being ugly. IT JUST DOESN’T. You are not gross because you’re overweight. And you know what? If a human being is going to judge you on your body size (large or small) then they can kindly go fuck themselves. With a chainsaw (please go watch Heathers for that reference).

You are AMAZING.

Life is full of ups and downs and sometimes it feels like all downs. Sometimes it feels like the world is against us and we want our escapes.

It breaks my goddamn heart to think there are people who look in the mirror and hide. Or who avoid the mirror altogether.

When I first posted the Hello From Dean, and I got all those responses (I still am) I sat and sobbed. I sat in my car after work and just cried. I was happy it had that effect but truly heartbroken that any of you would see yourselves as anything other than perfect. You have different parts of your body that don’t look like other peoples’, and that’s good.

Those self-harm scars? They don’t define you. Those scars from surgeries or accidents? Those are not YOU. Those stretch marks and freckles you hate? Some people adore those. Or hell, don’t even see them. You know those moments where you realize “How the fuck has my makeup been this bad and no one told me?” That’s because no one noticed. Same goes for your ‘flaws’ that you see.

You people are gorgeous. I know this because you say kind things and participate in a community priding itself on Always Keep Fighting and supporting one another. We joke and laugh, we meet at cons and we create friendships. You’re all so fucking glorious and talented it makes me want to vomit.

More than anything it breaks my heart that you don’t know it.

So when you sit down next, or whatever, I want you to list everything you love about yourself. I want you to write down EACH AND EVERY THING that is great about you. Do you like your toenails? Then write that down. Do you love to sing? Write it down. Are you a good listener? YOU WRITE THAT THE FUCK DOWN AND YOU SAVE IT. Post it in the front of every goddamn book you use and read, and all over your room.

REMIND YOURSELF EVERY DAMN DAY just how FUCKING beautiful you are. Inside and out. Just because there’s no one there right now telling you how much they love you don’t think they don’t exist.

YOU ARE SO LOVED.

And hey… if you want… send those things you love about yourself to me. I want to repost and like and send messages of love to all of you. I want you to WRITE WHAT YOU LOVE ABOUT YOU and not only keep it, but send it to me. Anon or otherwise.

YOU. ARE. LOVED.

YOU. ARE. BEAUTIFUL.

“A mark for every breath you took,

every blink, every sleepy yawn.

One for every time you sucked your thumb,

waved hello, closed your eyes,

and slept in the most perfect darkness.

One for every time you had the hiccups.

One for every dream you dreamed with me.

It isn’t very ‘pretty’ anymore,

some may even think it’s ugly.

That’s OK.

It was your home.

It held you until my arms could,

and for that,

I will always find something beautiful in it.”

i. show me things you’ve never shown anyone. show me the scars, the bruises, the stretch marks. tell me about your mother, your past, everything i missed that made you who you are. make me proud of you.

ii. touch me tender, in a way you’ve never touched anyone. make me feel special, like nothing i’ve ever experienced. make this extraordinary. love me loudly. make me remember this as something that can never be replaced.

iii. hurt me like i’ve never been hurt before. make my bones ache and my cheeks sore from fake smiling. soak my pillows. make me regret caring. don’t show me anything. don’t touch me at all.

—  no wonder no one ever gets close anymore
Oneshot : Jimin x You : 12,721 words : Her Name is Olivia

Rating: PG
Genre: Fluff
Title: Her Name is Olivia
Pairing: Jimin x You (your name is Kathryn)

You’re daughter is 2 and a half years old and it has been a few years since you’ve had a day truly to yourself. Your friend, Jordan, takes you out to a new restaurant/club and you find that when you arrive you table has been given away to somebody else…

lethallycute

Keep reading

For megstielforever: I would like a fanart where Meg is pregnant and  Cas caressing her belly Please! I’ve always wanted to see that picture Thank you very much to you of course!

I enjoyed drawing this! Thank you so much!!! For some reason Meg is a miracle mother, because she doesn’t have any stretch-marks XD

Keep sending in your requests HERE!!!

Previous Art

More Megstiel

Don’t tell thin women to eat a cheeseburger. Don’t tell fat women to put down the fork. Don’t tell underweight men to bulk up. Don’t tell women with facial hair to wax, don’t tell uncircumcised men they’re gross, don’t tell muscular women to go easy on the dead-lift, don’t tell dark-skinned women to bleach their vagina, don’t tell black women to relax their hair, don’t tell flat-chested women to get breast implants, don’t tell “apple-shaped” women what’s “flattering,” don’t tell mothers to hide their stretch marks, and don’t tell people whose toes you don’t approve of not to wear flip-flops. And so on, etc, etc, in every iteration until the mountains crumble to the sea. Basically, just go ahead and CEASE telling other human beings what they “should” and “shouldn’t” do with their bodies unless a) you are their doctor, or b) SOMEBODY GODDAMN ASKED YOU.
—  Lindy West

When I was in 7th grade, I started getting stretch marks on my stomach and they looked like little, red, hands pressing against my skin and I didn’t know what they were so I though that I was pregnant, or had like some kid of fiery, demon baby inside of me and that’s the story of when I told my pastor that I thought I was carrying the Antichrist in my virgin body.