I’ve earned my stripes, from the stretch marks on my breasts that date from the sixth grade, when I went from an A to a C cup (and marked the last time any guy would raise his eyes above my chest for about a decade) and my C-section scar to the grey streak in my hair and the laugh lines that frame my mouth. I’ve been through good times and bad times; I’ve seen them all and my dear—I’m still here. And you know what? Staying powerful is sexy.