I’m not sure how old I was when I started weighing myself regularly. It may have been in college since that’s the number I remember when I think about how much I “used to weigh”. I do remember thinking that I’d like to weigh less.
Much of my fitness journey since then, since college, has been geared towards shrinking my numbers. The number on the scale, the numbers on clothing tags, the numbers on the tape around my belly. It’s hard for me to remember a time when exercise and eating weren’t planned out with the express goal of getting smaller.
Even as this perception of my body is something I am actively working to change, I still feel shame around my body all the time. I remember recently recalling fondly how good I once looked in a bikini. I dug through my photos to search for the evidence, and I couldn’t find any. Why not? I know that as a younger woman I must have looked fabulous on the beach. I was so much smaller! But I couldn’t find any pictures, because at that age I was just as uncomfortable in my body as I am now.
When I turned 30, I knew that was never going to become easier to get my numbers down. I’ve done some pretty intense workout and diet programs in the past with great results, but I was never able to sustain them. Was this the time to commit to a new fitness lifestyle? Would I start planning my meals? Working out every morning? Toning, strengthening, and chiseling my body to glory?
And then I thought of something else. Something, maybe, that seemed better.
I have a friend who is a wonderful photographer, and since she took my wedding pictures I had been thinking about getting a boudoir shoot to surprise my husband. But every time I went to reach out and schedule it I stopped myself. Maybe next month, I thought. Maybe after I had lost a few more inches, or dropped a size, Maybe once I looked better.
Can you catch the subtext of my self-talk here? I literally didn’t think my body was worth being photographed. I didn’t think it was worth the money and the time to create those photos.
When I realized that, I decided to reach out to Shannon, my photographer, and set up the shoot. I don’t want to turn 60 and look back through my photos of “when I was so young and beautiful” and not be able to find any because I was too uncomfortable to get my photo taken!
I want to decide my body is worth being celebrated how it is. So I made some rules for my shoot. No professional hair and makeup. I wanted to look like me. Maybe like me in the best possible light captured by an artist, but still me. I also decided to wear clothing I already owned, and to be photographed in my own house. This was meant to be a celebration of me how I am, not an aspirational version of myself.
Luckily, Shannon is a wonder to work with, and the shoot itself made me feel incredibly loved and celebrated. When I got the photos back it felt how I had expected. Exciting, and little uncomfortable. They were a version of me I rarely ever show anyone, even myself. The woman in those photos was beautiful, confident, sexy, and comfortable in her body. The surprising part was that the woman in the photos was me.
I chose to keep my photos in an album in my bedroom near where I get ready in the morning. Now, on days when I feel like my favorite dress makes me look pregnant, or my thighs are too big, or my freckles are too freckly, I can catch myself and pick up my album. I can look at those photos and see myself in a way that’s exciting and a little revolutionary: incredibly beautiful, exactly as I am.