Fear

Fear.

Fear is what I felt with the first breath as I lowered my dress.

Fear? Fear of losing my breath, of no longer creating, growing.

Fear of a neglected, tired body, reflecting sadness and discomfort.

Fear is what I felt the first day in the school changing room with my classmates, when we took off our leotards, 7-year-old bodies, sizes among which mine stood out in height and width, 2 or 3 sizes bigger. Life wanted me to grow faster, I suppose; every year I grew, my body grew more, just as my sorrow grew. Yes, sorrow. What was sorrow?

Years later I grew more, and more. I got sick, again and again. I cried, again and again. I got sick and cried at the same time. My sorrow broke mirrors, reflections, image, my image. I grew and didn’t stop growing, a latent teenager, still with persistent fear. I was afraid of facing my image, and of looking at my feet. Until I got sick and fell, the way an angel falls to earth, the way flowers wither at the end of summer, the way leaves fall when autumn comes, the way my skin falls as time goes by. Fear? Fear of loving myself. Fear? Shame.

I try, or honestly, not so much. It seems the fear turned into lies, lies to myself. False acceptance.

Crisis.

It took me a while to get there, my truth took a while to arrive, or did it? I looked at myself behind the camera, I looked at myself in the mirror, and I hugged myself. I hugged my sagging skin, I hugged my rolls, I hugged my sadness and said goodbye to it, I hugged life, and I told it ‘let’s keep going’.

Transformation.

Acceptance.

Courage.

HELLEN

IG: @c0r_vitri