How to get rid of stretch marks
Behind-the-scenes of the creative process of writing a poem that started with the word "stretched" and feels like a perfect share on International Women's Day
Almond oil. Cocoa butter. Retinoid cream. Olive oil. Lasers. Microneedling. Microdermabrasion. Tummy tucks.
Here’s the truth (as confirmed by Google and my dermatologist when I confessed to her during my first trimester that I had a fear of developing more stretch marks than I had already accumulated since my days of growth as a young woman): They may never disappear. They are yours. They are part of you now.
Genetics determine whether you will develop stretch marks or not. How about that fun fact? How many of us have spent time Googling for remedies to get rid of stretch marks that represent our heritage, our DNA, our literal pain and growth?
For several months, this word “STRETCHED” tossed around in my mind. I have felt stretched by motherhood since before my son entered this world, the weight of carrying my unborn child through a high-risk pregnancy with so many worries and appointments to manage.
Motherhood is physically and mentally stretching.
I wrote a poem several months ago after carrying this word around with me for a while, tossing it around in my mind throughout my days, trying to make sense of what it really feels like to be stretched.
Today, I shared this poem on Instagram for International Women’s Day.
This poem started as scribbled words in my journal. I’m a huge advocate for journaling—you can grab my free journaling guide here if you’re interested in learning more about starting this habit of writing.
I truly believe that this kind of writing is accessible to everyone. It only takes 10 minutes and one word like “STRETCHED” to reflect in a journal. (I will say, during the fresh newborn stage, I didn’t have the capacity to write for even 10 minutes. After sleep and rest were possible, then I could start writing again.)
The sound and rhythm of this poem were important to me as I revised it. I could hear the sound of water running in the background, which is why I used the voiceover feature on Instagram to read the poem over top of the sounds of crashing ocean waves. When I heard the words taking shape over the sounds of ocean waves or running bath water, I felt the pause with “See, (pause) look, (pause)…”
I imagined the speaker, a woman, running her fingertips over the bumpy, rough, and jagged edges of her stretch marks. This image made its way into the final version of the poem, but you’ll notice that it wasn’t part of the original. The stretch marks were bleeding together to form shapes that looked like continents, and I pictured a body tattooed with a map of the entire globe.
At first, this felt very literal to me—a woman with stretch marks that painted a picture. But then I started to feel like this image held more power. The speaker of this poem isn’t just one woman; she is every woman around the globe who has felt stretched. By having the image of a globe, there’s a unity that’s felt over a shared and universal experience.
The image of water played a heavy role in this poem, too, as I imagined this tattoo map of continents formed by bumpy and uneven lines. What comes after these rough lines? What falls beyond the edges or the borders? Oceans. Water. Tears.
This woman has been through so much pain and suffering. The oceans of her tears represents the sadness, but also the beauty and amazement of all that her body has endured. There’s also a calmness felt in these oceans of tears.
In the first draft above, I said that she “traveled” the whole world. But after several days of returning to my journal to revise this poem, that word didn’t communicate this feeling. This woman is strong. Her stretch marks show literal proof of all that she has faced. The word “traveled” felt too light, like she was packing for a casual vacation.
After several revisions of this poem, including typing it into a Word document to see how it felt and read when I saw the words on the screen, I shared this piece in a writers’ workshop hosted by
and led by . gave me excellent feedback to help improve the clarity and intent of this poem. As you can see in the original, the speaker “traces the pattern of her stretch marks, for her husband, her love(r)…” I went on to add, “No, tonight she is alone.” noted that this part about “her husband” felt confusing:“I love how this paragraph creates this grand profound image at the end — but I’m unsure why the part about the husband is here. Often, I tell writers though it may be true, it might be necessary to include.”
As I wrote this scene, I pictured this woman. Where was she as she traced her stretch marks? Who was she with? At first I did picture her in this intimate setting with her husband, showing off these markings as proof of all that she had endured. But then I felt deeply, no, this woman is alone.
Not only does this add clarity to the poem, but it also speaks to the intent of the poem. It’s important that this woman is alone as she reflects on her beauty and power and strength. Motherhood can feel incredibly stretching, but also isolating. I wanted this woman to study the pattern of her stretch marks, to make connections with this tattooed image on her body to realize that she isn’t alone — she is connected to every other woman around the world who has felt stretched by motherhood. It is meant to build feelings of empowerment for this woman and all of the readers.
The final word—bathtub—is one of the most important parts of this poem.
I wanted this strong woman to find connection with other women, to find solace, to come to terms with and embrace her stretch marks with pride for all that she had endured. The global images are meant to build momentum to feel grand and soulful and bigger than just her, but then it all ends with this simple and ordinary image: a bathtub.
So much of motherhood feels confined to the walls of our home. We are stretching ourselves to the ends of the earth—growing our capacity beyond anything we could ever imagine—all within our ordinary days. Some days, we literally grow into a new person before we even leave our bathroom to comfort our crying babies.
On this International Women’s Day, and every day, I hope that you find rest. Find a moment in your bathtub to celebrate the strength of your body and all that you have endured.
The woman in this poem teaches us that we can feel connected and tied to other women going through the same experience during our quiet and ordinary moments of rest and reflection.
Give these a try…
No creams or oils to share with you today. Instead, some reading and writing resources for anyone feeling stretched.
This week, I launched a refreshed website! There are several resources available to you for free if you’re interested in exploring this type of creative writing and processing. First is a journaling guide. This is your guide if you’re ready to use journaling to notice ordinary, small moments that lead to big, meaningful insights. I’ve included 45 questions to help get your ideas flowing, as well as some simple tips to create a habit of writing in a journal.
Check out this list of 5 must-read memoirs and essay collections. If you enjoyed the style of this poem, you’ll enjoy several of the books on this list. The authors experiment with these unique styles as short chapters written in third person.
My Free Guide to Processing What You Need is perfect for mothers feeling this “stretching” reality of motherhood and caring for others. This guide is based on an exercise that my therapist gave me to help me identify how I want to feel in different areas of my life and start to identify the actions/support that I need in order to show up as my best self today. This exercise can seem “simple,” but it has made a profound impact on navigating the demands of motherhood.
P.S. I’m writing a book! And this poem just might be a small chapter in my book :) You can join me on this creative journey of writing and publishing a book on Instagram, as well as through my weekly emails going behind-the-scenes of the process.