Category Archives: My Image
Posts where my image are featured or highlighted in some way. Sorry kids, no nudes here.
Selfies aren’t hard for me. I take them and post them often enough that some of you will think that this is just a normal day for me.
But what I don’t do is show my unedited side. I don’t show the frowns or the tears or the less polished aspects of myself for a camera. I brag that I’m authentic and real, but there is convincing evidence that I’m not always showing my full self. Part of that is my tendency to play the people pleaser, to feel like I need to be “on” all the time. How many selfies have I not posted because of some critical eye I have toward how I look or how I feel about those looks?
I can’t look objectively at my self. The loathing I have for my imperfections is deeper than I admit sometimes. I string along facsimiles of confidence hoping that it will cover for the deeper insecurities I have about my size, my uneven eyes, my flat hair, my giant nose, my freckles, my scars. But those insecurities cover up the darker corners of self-worth where the wounds of adolescence and childhood reside. The ones that were taught to be pleasing to everyone, to give them what they want even if it isn’t what I feel.
Shit, I’m delving into rape culture territory here–a burden most women shoulder without even thinking. Performing for the approval of others has been a big way I can fake self-worth and hide from the harsh criticisms of others.
But if I really want to be radical and sincere in my personal changes, I need to show myself in the moment. How I actually feel. How I actually present in the world. Unadorned, unedited, undeterred.
So for today’s challenge I give you an imperfect selfie. Fucking hard for me to post. The imperfection of my face, my body, my lack of great curves, my disproportionate structure–gah! It just gets to me. But I promised–so here you go. Unedited, no filters and only a tiny bit of cropping.
This is the me that is recovering from an acute PTSD episode that has had me on edge and loopy the past two days.
This is the me that has burned out and is in need of replenishment.
This is the me that is disappointed and hurt that my love isn’t reciprocated by the people I actually want to pursue.
This is the me that is fed up with giving the emotional labor to people who can’t be bothered to learn me and truly be there for me.
This is the me ashamed I don’t make more time for dating; and the me that is determined to not need anyone in my life.
This is the me of this moment. And maybe, right now, I just need my own acceptance and love.
Something snapped today.
I have known for a while that I might break. I’ve been wound too tight for too long without much opportunity for relief. And I know what you’re thinking: sexual relief *giggle*. And while I will get to that in a minute, I mean some actual soul-level relief.
I work in a highly stressful job. Stressful and immensely rewarding. Intuitively it seems like it should balance out, but it really doesn’t. There is a price to be paid for being positive and hopeful and optimistic in the face of overwhelming disparity, trauma, and hardship. And I have been paying that price for much longer than I’ve had this job.
It won’t surprise you that I care about caring. I care about virtually everyone I meet. A kid walking down the hallway who trips over his shoelaces–I care about him. An old friend from HS who is having marriage problems–I care about her. A celebrity’s family after a tragic accident or loss–I care about them. I don’t know these people, but I expend heart energy for them. My personal avatar should be a Care Bear.
Less than a week until a performance and I am fighting my anxiety. I am nervous about my endurance. Nervous about my injuries over the past few months. But more than anything nervous over my body and how it will be perceived.
This performance marks 4 years since I started taking belly dance lessons. My life was so different back then. I was in a long-distance marriage in addition to the legal marriage I am still in now. I had a girlfriend and was only barely flirting with Warrior. I was trying to please a Dom who lacked the consistency I really needed and craved. I was still recovering from being outed and I was in a job that was safe but utterly boring. I was feeling stuck in a pattern of my own fear, constantly focusing on what I seemed to lack especially when it came to having an outlet.
I realized not too long ago that I have been a dancer my entire life. Tap, ballet, figure skating, flamenco, ice dancing, the list goes on. When I went out clubbing I was proud to be one of the women to watch…and I used that power to urge otherwise neglected men onto the floor with me. Some of my favorite moments happened while dancing in a gay bar in Chicago during their salsa night. I was the only girl there who knew salsa and was a lifesaver for all the gay boys who only knew how to lead and not follow. Later that night I seduced one of the only straight men there and came while we danced on the floor. I’ve been involved in the arts in some way or another, but it is only in dancing that I feel like an artist.
Despite the hours that I work on my dancing, the fact that I can sustain a shimmy for 4 straight minutes and I continue to work on conditioning I am simply not what people expect to see of a belly dancer. my belly is lumpy and riddled with stretch marks. I am not lean and lithe like most dancers. I am curvy to an extreme. And while I have made significant progress toward accepting and loving my body, still the prospect of performing for an audience always puts a heavy dose of fear into me.
I have overheard people comment about my size, especially after fetish shows. Some negative and some positive. And for all the positive commentary I do receive, the negative sticks in my head even more. And as I put on my choli, bra and hip scarf I have to overcome those messages of “why the fuck do I want to see a bunch of fat notches dance?” that have become so internalized from a history of body issues.
I take some responsibility for allowing these messages to permeate but what bothers me is that people say them at all. Whether they hurt me or not is irrelevant. What bothers me is someone in the audience may overhear the comment and decide not to try out this form of expression (which is incredibly liberating and challenging for any gender or body type). What bothers me are the standards within the belly dance community that encourage us to cover our “less than perfect bellies” with mesh cover-ups. What bothers me is that message…from the shitty audience member or the belly focal queen who thinks she is preserving modesty in the community…is absolutely the wrong message.
The message I prefer to send when I am dancing is full of joy in my craft, openness in my every moment, gratitude in sharing this space with others and a freedom of expression nothing else in life can ever offer me.
So here I am showing this body, saying it is okay for me to be a little bit nervous…but even better for me to be proud of all the amazing, snake-like movements I can execute…and to surprise even myself a little with the curve of my body and the freedom and power in my spirit.
There has been a lot happening in my world of work these past few weeks. I have been building my own business and I finally have a paying client. So, which this isn’t a forever sort of gig, it is nice to know I will be paid for the work I already completed.
So here is a picture to satisfy until I have a bit more opportunity to write more.
Don’t have much time to update here but wanted to share a few tidbits from our own, personal kinky roadshow. Have pride will travel.
This weekend I am with my gay brothers in my hometown for their pride festival. After settling at the hotel we headed on the road again for an ice cream social. The gay community of Fremont County was just sweet and generous. They welcomed us with open arms. They seemed so supportive of each other. Which I think is essential when living in a small community like that.
And last night we ended up at the community’s only gay bar where my friends got introduced and I was oggled by every gay man in the space. Pictures soon to follow.
But right now we have the local pride parade. Just waiting for the boys to get ready to go.
Once I get back home I will update with more photos and a lot of insights on how it feels to be “out” in ny hometown.
A Loose Woman Speaks
I have burned with you in the fires; I have resurrected you from the despair. I’ve held your hand in the depths of your darkness. I’ve given you light to lift you. I’ve been here each time you’ve prayed out loud or cried silently.
Sweet and bold. Powerful and quiet. I will never leave you, my Love.
Blissful and melancholy. Radiant and cursed. Sensual and familiar. Rough and blessed. Vibrant and smooth. I embrace your duality and all the space in between.
Strike at the soul and be consumed within these flames.