The Power of She

Growing up, I hated myself. I hated the dimples on my thighs, the way my nails refused to grow, the rainbow colored tan I sported (ladies, I had seven different shades going on, okay? Turns out when you're out in the sun and wear different uniforms you'll end up with some oddly shaped tan lines.) the scar above my lip where a beauty mark should be... let us not talk about the tuft of dark hair that one lovely boy who shall remain nameless professed to be thicker than his own mustache.

I couldn't see me for who I was. I was too preoccupied with a very myopic view of my life that, unfortunately, only made my despair that much more hard to deal with. By the time I was seventeen, my forearms, thighs and breasts told a dark, frightening story that made friends pale in worry. I was careful, oh so careful, to keep my body hidden. And on the day that a friend saw what I'd done, I swore her to secrecy.  (You can read more about it here: I hated using a mirror )

I wish I could say that I haven't sliced myself ever again, but that would be a lie. I wish I could say that I *love me* stretch marks and self-inflicted scars and all, but again, that would be a lie. And if there is anything I hate in my life more than anything else is a liar.

The truth is, I am a human being. I have my moments of weakness where I will curl up in a ball and cry for hours. There are days when I look at myself in the mirror -- and yes, I still hate doing it sometimes as I have a tendency to hyperfocus on my flaws, real or imagined-- and I just want to cry. Though I have to admit those days are coming less and less frequently. I do everything I can to surround myself with positive influences.

And why? Because I want to see myself the way my husband sees me. I want to love myself the way he loves me. I want to be me and not worry about the dimples, the scars or the fat rolls.

This year has been hard for me. I've had some rather big changes and for any of you who are reading this who *know* me, I am not very fond of change. I got a new apartment, a new job -- a new cat as of almost a year ago. (That in itself was huge, as I'd been mourning Tabu for over a year!) My confidence, while it had gotten pretty damn 'sexy', as my husband likes to say, started to waver.

I took a pretty serious fall about a month ago and I've just been moping ever since. I can't paint. I haven't written anything in a year. My clothes don't fit anymore because I GAINED weight. I have a hard time taking care of Slayer (That would be this wild mane atop my head, and yes, he does have a name. Doesn't yours?) so he sits there in a bun all day and breaks things in anger. Fuck, some days I can't even put on my bra!

Knowing I was feeling like CRAP and that one of my dreams was to do a model for a pin up shoot, my own, personal Dame told me about Dames for Dreams.... and The Power of She.

This is a group of women who strengthen their community by empowering fellow ladies. They build them up instead of breaking them down. They get together and help *everyone* as best as they can and I can say, this attitude is euphoric. Just listening to her talk about what these women have done for each other has gotten me thinking a lot lately.

Cat also went on to remind me about my passion of writing and my passion for showing the world that there IS beauty in everyone of us regardless of how our outsides look. (Anyone else find wrinkles sexy as fuck?) It is the inside that matters, yes, but sometimes, that ugly outside is only ugly because we can't see it for what it is. And before I knew it, she'd put my name down on the list for The Power of she photo shoot.  Why? Because she knows I want to do a 'Real Shapes' shoot with Emma Booth from Light Fantastic -- a nude study in light and shadow.

What is "The Power of She"?

It is a photo shoot of implied or true nudity that takes the blinders off and let us women see that we are beautiful. We have come into this world with the bodies we have and they are beautiful. Freckles. Dimples. Scars. Rolls. Grey hair. Color hair. Tattoos. All imperfections and flaws, collectively, make us whole and that, my friends, make us gorgeous for really, the body, is a wonderful thing.

There will be photo shoots of multiple ladies, I believe 5-7 at a time, for a total of four shoots. MY scheduled day is in three days.

Yes. Me. The girl who wore long-sleeves and unflattering clothes for more than half her life is going to bear it all. Except this shot won't let me hide in the shadows at all.

So, here I am, overweight, covered in scars and stretchmarks looking at myself in front of the mirror. My boobs sag awkwardly -- as real, 40K bobs aught to do. If I turn ever so slightly I see dimples. I hide my swollen, stiff, almost useless arm behind myself for a bit. I want to cry, but I don't. For the first time in my life I'm starting to see a little sliver of the picture that my husband sees when he looks at me.

And speaking of the guy who thinks I'm hot cakes regardless of what I wear or don't wear have to say that his wife is going to be tastefully nude with a bunch of other women and potentially have the prints shared with the world?

'Its about damned time.'

HAH! I love that guy.