Thanks to me for daring
Before he even asked, I had already said yes to Pralad. Then comes a glitch in the matrix of my brain when I read his invitation to take photos at the Quebrada: “No! They’ll see you, it’s not appropriate, how embarrassing!, how scary, what will they think of you?, how gross, no.”
Yes! I insist, having decided a while ago to look at those dialogues in my head that reveal learned patterns and change them or burn them, with lucid confidence about who I am being these days and how I like to express myself, a discovery I’ve been unearthing over these last 2 years of my 30s.
My femininity had to be expressed in the “right” way; my body had to be perceived as “ladylike”. Inhabiting myself had to revolve around the image in the eyes of others who wanted me tame, obedient, invisible in attitude, a nice ornament in my presence. I complied fully for many, many years, more than I’d like.
Those learned patterns kept me distant from my body. An inadequate body, a motionless body, a contested body, a body that is mine but not really, an insufficient body, a sleeping body. A means of transport that had to follow rules and express itself under a morality that made no sense to me.
With ups and downs I began to inhabit it, to look at it, to love it, to express myself through it however it came out of my womb, my hips, my hands, my heart, my feet, my belly.
Out there Pralad asked me how I got to this, and the answer is: by arguing, above all with myself but also with others. It’s a constant dialogue between what the status quo tells us and my truth.
Living the photo session was sublime. Literally, no exaggeration. For me it was sublime, noble and grand. Living nudity lightly, with confidence in a public space, without shame, delighted, loving myself, embracing myself, challenging myself.
Thank you, Pralad, for creating the moment and capturing me with so much beauty.
Thanks to me for daring.