Stripped Bare

I got a selfie stick over the weekend.

One of those things I had avoided buying for as long as possible because they seemed ridiculous, and because I know I would be incredibly embarrassed to use one in public. The last thing I want is for someone to see me taking pictures of myself. It’s one of those things that shouldn’t be embarrassing, but is.

But with the blog, the book, the website and whatever other crazy ideas I come up with next, and no professional photographer to follow me around, I need to be a little creative. So I broke down and got one.

I wanted to test it out and figure out how to use it. I had an idea of a picture I wanted to take, one where I was nude but covered. A silhouette, so to speak. I was trying to find the right angle but the thing was so heavy I was having a hard time maneuvering it. Eventually I gave up, laid down on my back, and snapped a photo. When I went back through them, looking at how they turned out, the only one that I really liked was the one I hadn’t planned. No silhouette, no hiding. Just me, lying on my back, staring at the camera. 

I couldn’t stop looking at it.

When I was younger, I hated my body. I’ve never had a good relationship with it. I was so skinny, too skinny. I never quite felt like I looked like a woman, never wanted anyone to see me. More importantly, I never wanted to see me. I’d get out of the shower and wrap a towel around myself right away. I would never look in the mirror when I changed. I spent years avoiding my own reflection as much as possible.

Even after aerial. Even after my body started changing. Even after I developed the curves I always wanted. I became less embarrassed about other people seeing me, but I still avoided seeing myself.

So looking at that picture was different because for the first time, I really looked. It was an accidental pose, but it made me feel proud. I never saw myself this way. I never thought I could. And what surprised me most wasn’t even the picture. It was the realization that I almost felt like I owed myself an apology.

For all the years I spent looking away. For not believing people when they said kind things. For not seeing the work my body had done for me, or the woman I had become. The woman in that picture looked vulnerable, but she also looked strong.

And for the first time, I didn’t look away. I didn’t cover myself. I didn’t apologize.

I was proud.