HappyComeLucky

Sexy. Sensual. Sexual. I recognise all of these words and will use them about me. This post is not about showing off. Sexy is the one of those that is most flighty for me to keep in my self-image but I hold on to it most of the time.

Feeling as though I own those descriptions is a good good feeling. It sometimes catches me by surprise that I never question whether I am sexual or sensual – they are utterly part of being me.

There is another word that really does take me by surprise when it sneaks into my self-image as it is something that has always been about others and very clearly never about me. That word is ‘beautiful’.

I’ve used logic, photos and kindness to see some beauty in me. It has been a battle at times, especially when I am really struggling with body image and weight (I have blogged about my bad feelings about it here). I have taken pictures that I have thought of as beautiful but with the safe disconnect that it is the picture that is beautiful and not me.

I realised this week, That I have started sharing some pictures of me with people that I do think of as beautiful and I caught myself, for the first time ever, feeling that I am beautiful. That is a very powerful thing. I have a bad history of experiences with photographs, especially of my face. Sharing them has become more scary that meeting people in the flesh. Of course, that anxiety about pictures doesn’t help. The more I worry about how the picture will look, the more I tense up and the worse the result is.

What’s changed is my trust in the people I share with and their responses. I’m no longer taking pictures because it pushes me and makes me face up to things. I am taking pictures because I am happy, cheeky, sexy and I want to share it with them.

This week, I was already revelling in this new experience when I got hit by one of my wobbles about my body confidence. I get these reasonably often. I sometimes wonder if I get them because I feel so much better than what I see in the mirror. I feel the sensual moves and curves. I feel the arch of my back and the tilt of my hips. It’s hard to find those when I look at myself. The sensual beauty I feel seems to be masked by my size. The curves and the frame are hidden. I carry a lot of guilt about being fat. It taps right into memories of being laughed at and talked about in the hell that was Top Shop communal changing rooms as a teen. It makes me feel those feelings of worthlessness that I was told I should own. It makes me resent my body and fear being a disappointment to others. I admit to having felt that it really isn’t fair that others have apparently effortlessly slim bodies.

These feelings used to overwhelm me. They don’t anymore. I’ve learnt to be honest with myself about them and to reach out to people for reassurance when I need it. I don’t have to fake being utterly invincible. If people want me, they get me wobbles and all – both the physical wobbly bits and the emotionally wobbly bits. I am gradually taming those feelings. I don’t expect them to disappear completely but spanking them into line means that I can look at myself without measuring myself against or comparing myself with the other beauties out there.

The pictures I am sharing privately are becoming more and more candid. Less carefully posed and more actively, joyfully me. And, as a result, the feedback loop that I get from that is much stronger, healthier and definitely good for me.