Stretch Marks and Depression

I was paging through a parenting magazine in the doctor's office and noticed an advertisement for some kind of lotion that is supposed to keep pregnant women from getting stretch marks.  The tall, beautiful (and airbrushed) woman was saying something like "I used such-and-such cream and didn't get ANY stretch marks, even though my mother and sister did!"  I'm pretty sure the unprinted message was intended to be something like "YOU, my mom and sister are idiots because if you had JUST used this lotion, you wouldn't have stretch marks....like ME!  I'm mentioning my mother and sister just to show that your sorry excuse of blaming genetics for your disgusting belly is just WRONG!"

Yup, I have stretch marks.  I used LOTS of lotions with my first pregnancy and got LOTS of stretch marks.  I used less lotion with my second pregnancy (because it's harder to take the time to put lotion on after an elusive shower with a toddler running around) and the stretch marks climbed higher.  After four babies, I am basically one big stretch mark.  I have evolved enough to be genuinely happy for those women who don't have stretch marks.  I can ooh-and-ahh at their bare-belly pregnancy Glamour shots with sincerity (mostly), so my sore spot with this issue is not really jealousy.  It is the self-doubt.  Was there something I could have done differently?  Could I actually have prevented this?  Maybe.
Self-doubt.  Old frenemy. 

Another long-time unwanted companion of mine is depression.  I have suffered from a wide range of depression, from simply blue to barely-able-to-function.  I am thankful to not have experienced the CAN'T-function variety...but I know it's out there.  Looming.  I do my best to stay proactive, to fight the good fight, to do things that I know will keep me on track, and avoid things that I know will bring me down.  I have joy, thankfulness, humor, and contentment...things that help keep me afloat.  But there have been at least 3 times in my life that it all wasn't good enough.  Regardless of what I did, I felt like I was treading water with quick sand.

It seems that any time the topic of depression surfaces, there are always "tips" offered by the well-meaning person who has:  1. encountered some sadness, 2. did something, 3. felt better, and 4. swears that whatever s/he did is what "cured" it.  And if it worked for them, it should work for everyone, right?  In the well-meaner's defense, I have not been immune to this type of thinking either.  I think we all do it on some level.  The topic doesn't have to be depression...or stretch marks...it can apply to so many things.  We grasp at the things we think we do right to quell the self doubt that tells us we are doing it all wrong.

Perhaps this sounds like a pessimistic viewpoint (I am depressed, afterall).  Rather, I offer a ray of compassion on our humanity.  Perhaps we ARE responsible for our failures, perhaps we are not.  More likely, it's somewhere inbetween. I'm not debating the necessity of personal responsibility and good choices; I'm saying maybe we should just focus on being grateful for the good things we have and not judging or offering our unwanted "helpful" suggestions to those (including ourselves) who are struggling with something.  Let's not feed the universal beast of self-doubt.

Even our faith is not our own, but a gift.
Same goes if you don't have stretch marks.