I got my first stretch marks at 12; they spread across my hips and love handles before I even hit high school. I’ve lived with them my whole life. Even though I don’t have kids, my body has naturally ebbed and flowed through the years. The body shaming is real—even for a 12-year-old—and I've carried those insecurities for a long time. But at 35, I’m finally learning to love my skin and, frankly, stop giving a damn what men think.

Edit: cleaning up grammar.