I wish I could count the amount of times someone told me they were waiting to book a session until they lost those last ten pounds. I wish I could tell you how many times people have put off getting their photo taken while they wait for a milestone that might never come. I wish you could see how many people live undocumented lives because their insecurities are greater than their willingness to get in front of a camera. I wish that I could change all of that through one blog post, oh how I wish I could change that. Who are these people? They are our mothers, grandmothers, sisters, children, and friends. These are the people we look at and see beauty and they are filled with insecurities just like us.
The conversations started a few weeks ago in St. Lucia with sunburnt skin and pina coladas in hand. We had made new friends on vacation in St. Lucia and while the boys were playing pool, us girls sat around a table and enjoyed a night cap. The truth was, we called our resort “Club Med” because the average age had to be 70 and so we clung to the other 20 and 30 somethings. Somehow we started talk about our bodies, somehow it crept into the conversation and before you knew it we were word vomiting the things we hated about the body God gave us. Why, oh why do we do that? We throw out our insecurities faster than we throw out the trash in hopes that if tell people what’s wrong with us, they might not notice our flaws. If anything, we should have waltzed around the pool in our bikinis at all hours of the day, because I am sure those 70 somethings were remembering the days that they could pull off a two piece and yet here we were, complaining about our imperfections that glared back at us when we stood in front of the mirror. As we sat there with a drink in hand we talked about our insecurities, I realized that the bodies I had been admiring all day were invaded with the same thoughts I had been feeling. I wasn’t alone, after all.
I’ll be honest, I definitely haven’t always had the healthiest image of my body in my life. I wish I could blame something in my past for the way I view myself but the more I have real conversations with women, the more I realize that this demon that haunts us isn’t necessarily pinpointed to an occasion or a comment, it’s just within us. It’s this thing that hangs over our shoulder and shouts at us starting at an age I am too scared to admit. I remember being 12, wishing that I had bigger boobs and a flatter stomach, I remember being 18 and wishing the boobs that had come, would leave, I remember my wedding day thinking about arm fat and hoping there weren’t any bumps and ripples under my dress, I remember a week ago on the beach wishing my arms would shrink and the cellulite didn’t exist. These things don’t leave us, this demon doesn’t stop. It takes jabs at us and kicks us when we are down. It whispers to tell us we will never be enough and some days it shouts that we are unworthy, fat, and incapable of being loved. This little demon takes over our thoughts, creates unhealthy obsessions with food, and continues to remind us that we are not and will not be perfect.
Fast forward a few weeks ahead, I have a boudoir session with one of my brides. She messages days prior me how nervous she is, because this whole thing is so outside of her comfort zone (can I get an amen?) I promise her she will be okay and say a prayer that she can find some inner peace for her session. She gets to my home looking drop dead gorgeous and changes into her first set of lacy, pretty garments. I am in awe of her body, the strength, the muscles, the curves, the lines. This body has ran countless marathons, competed as a swimmer, hiked mountains, and taken her on countless adventures. This body was fearfully and wonderfully made and when I see my bride, I am just in awe. I find myself wishing I looked more like her, I think of how I would wear belly shirts if I had her abs, and short shorts if her legs were mine, I was captivated by her beauty. Pretty soon I am in la-la land dreaming of what I would do if I looked like her and then she breaks my silence with something I wasn’t expecting: she didn’t love her body. My heart sank, I wanted to shake her, I wanted her to see herself the way I was seeing her: filled with life, strength, beauty and yet I somehow felt more human knowing the thoughts that keep me up at night aren’t mine alone. We are in this together.
We talked real talk, we wished things were different, we yearned to feel confident in our skin. The thing is, I don’t want to be 80 and wishing I would lose those last ten pounds. I don’t want to look in the mirror and hate what I see. I don’t want to waste time imagining what I would look like if I could drop weight or lose the cellulite or remove my wrinkles. I don’t want to waste any more time hating the body I have been given, the one that can lift heavy weights, fly my nephew in the air, run a marathon, and carry a camera around all day. I don’t want to pretend that I feel entirely comfortable in my skin or that I don’t shy away from the camera because that demon is whispering in my ear. I don’t want to spend my life wishing I was something or someone different, I just don’t.
So, what do I really think when I look at your imperfect body? I think of the strength, the way it’s carried you through life, the way that it is wonderfully made, the way that it completes the person you are, the way that I can empower you to stand a little taller, to be a little more proud. Boudoir sessions aren’t made for only those with perfect bodies, in fact, the girls who are brave enough to do them still struggle with those demons. I don’t want you to lose ten pounds for the session, because that might never happen. Today is the day, today you are beautiful, just as beautiful as you were yesterday and just as beautiful as you will be tomorrow. While you are loathing in your insecurities, I may be wishing for those arms that you hate, I may be admiring that dimple that drives you crazy, I may focus on those curves that you wish would leave, chances are, I may see those things as the things that make you, you. I want you to know that this struggle is real, that these voices are in all of us, that the people you think are perfect have them, too. It’s time that we support one another in our fight to silence them, in our attempts to celebrate the way we are, in our every day life. I think your body is beautiful, more so, I think you are beautiful. Chances are, the things you take for granted, someone else is praying for.
Amazingly written! Goosebumps:)