Yesterday was a bit of a weird one. Went to work, 6am class, then a few PT clients. Finished off the day with a class and more clients... I spent the most of the day modelling at a photoshoot for a furniture catalogue.
Yeah, I know. What? I only did it to help out a friend who was short a model in my size, but I had the best freaking day. It was so much fun.
I can't believe how much of my life I spent hiding out of shot. Now, I fucking LOVE having my photo taken. I love the hair and the make up and the clothes and - yes - even the (stunning) furniture. I think of all the years I would've simply written it off as something I couldn't do because of how I looked or how much I weighed. I think of all the waiting I did for a perfect time that never came.
I used to go to epic lengths to avoid the camera. Why do we do this to ourselves? When you're 80, I doubt you'll look back and think, 'ooh thank goodness I'm not in any of these pictures with my friends/family/children'. And without getting totes morbs, when you die, your loved ones are going to want to look back on the memories. Not so heartwarming when you're either absent from every photo or you're just a cowering forehead or a waving hand. What do we teach our children when we run from the camera? We teach them to feel insecure about themselves; that it doesn't matter what you've achieved, you just better look fucking good when they present the award.
It often comes down to what you think of yourself. Do you feel you're ruining the photo by being in it? You fucking are not. Do you think you don't deserve to be in that picture? You fucking do. Are you afraid of what you'll look like? You will fucking look like you're in the picture. There will be documentary evidence that you existed, that you were there that day. There will be proof forever more that you were part of that event. The moment a photo is taken is a moment that will never exist again. Your body and your face will change in a thousand ways over a lifetime. You have nothing to fear by acknowledging that. Do you think the camera gives two shits about you? It does not. It captures an image of a second that will never again occur.
And then, I think about a day like yesterday. No pressure, no fear (ok so I was worried at first I couldn't carry off the red or that the dresses might not fit), no awkwardness or self loathing. I was there simply as a body that fitted into a pre-picked dress. Hey, if I'd been thinner, yesterday wouldn't even have been my day for modelling.
*I will not hide myself - I will not wait for perfection - I will not be afraid of my appearance - a photo is just a photo; it is not a judgment*
I'm not going to end this post with a picture of myself. I've shared those plenty on so many social networks that you'll definitely be able to find one! Instead, here's the furniture: the real star of yesterday... because sometimes it's just important to remember: every photo is not about you. It doesn't always matter what you look like, only that you were there. Bollocks to your bingo wings, fat rolls and double chins, bony elbows, spots, scars and bad hair; this shit's about the motherfucking memories ♡