Her

Growing up, I never thought about my weight or diet. I was rail thin, playing sports, smoking cigarettes and eating whatever I wanted. Stepping on a scale never crossed my mind. What was the point? When I put on the freshman 15 in college, I lost it immediately. No big deal.

Then one day, it was as if a switch had flipped. I went on a trip and when I got back to New York, I couldn’t lose the extra weight I’d gained, no matter how much I tried. I still didn’t own a scale, but I measured my body by my clothing and how it fit. Suddenly, there were parts of my wardrobe that were too small, clothes that made me feel ugly when I wore them, banished to the back of the closet or bottom of the drawer.

A year or so later, in my next apartment, my new roommate had a bathroom scale and the daily routine began - wake up, do my morning business (if you catch my drift), strip off my pjs and hop on the scale. I would nervously look down at the number, knowing that whatever was revealed would shape the rest of my day. If the number was a desirable one, I would do a little happy dance, feeling confident and beautiful. If the number was too high, I’d punish myself. It was these days when the chocolate chip cookie or slice of pizza would seem extra desirable; I’m sure because I felt it was forbidden.

This went on for years. I would worry about my meals, how much I was exercising. I never did any crash or fad diets, but my weight was constantly on my mind. It became a sort of obsession, not so much as to keep me from enjoying my life, but enough to keep me feeling badly about myself on a regular basis.

You may read this and find it dramatic or even dangerous. But I believe that many women (and men) feel the exact same way. The importance of our appearance is so ingrained that I cannot pinpoint it to any one factor like movie stars or social media. We feel we need to look a certain way not only to be sexy, but even to be loved. Our appearance can sometimes seem as if it the most important thing in the world. If you only looked “better”, you could attract a partner, get a higher paying job. The possibilities are endless. But you never seem to look better. Or if you do, it’s fleeting and you are only binge away from feeling inadequate again.

And then another day, a day just like any other, it was if a switch had flipped again. But this time, it was in my mind. I looked at my naked body in the mirror and I was happy with what I saw. I love to run and swim and bike, basically anything to be active and outdoors, so I began to notice the definition in my arms, legs and back. Of course this had always been present, but I was incapable of noticing and appreciating it. I stopped worrying about what I was eating and started paying attention to how much I was eating. I wanted to be healthy, not skinny. And as soon as I shifted my focus to health, the pounds began to shed. The daily routine is no longer daily. I check the numbers on my annual blood test, no longer obsessing over the ones on the scale.

Not long after that day, I had an idea. I wanted something to commemorate my body, to remind myself that I am beautiful and while I do work hard to stay in shape, it’s because I enjoy it, not because I feel like I have to. Ding! (the sound I’ve decided my brain makes when it has an idea). I would have nude photographs taken. But the details, like how to find a photographer or select a location were ones that seemed very out of reach, so my imagination was put on hold. I picked up the idea from time to time, but there was always a roadblock.

Then, in June of 2020, I moved to a family home at the Jersey Shore and it changed my life. I fell in love with the sea, the moon, sunrise runs on the beach, the sand in-between my toes, scrambling on rock jetties and the waves lapping up to meet my feet. I’d never felt more connected to nature and it became clear that THIS was the place I was looking for. A place where I truly felt at home, where my spirit could soar and my mind was clear. A place that touched my soul so deeply and purely, that I would frequently begin to cry, so overwhelmed by my feelings that they had no where to go but out my eyeballs.

With the location selected, the challenge of finding a photographer still loomed large. Ding! I asked a favor from a friend whose skill and passion for photography was growing. Luckily for me, she wholeheartedly agreed and together, we forged a new and unfamiliar path. For me, it was primarily the strangeness of movement (what do I do with my arms?!) and for her, it was how to capture an intentional and moving subject. We thought we could talk during the shoot, that her eye through the lens could guide me, but the roar of the waves had other plans and we were left more or less in our own worlds, even if we were only 10 feet apart.

The result, for me, is fantastic, more than what I could have hoped for. I see an image and smile, remembering how it felt to move with the wind, to feel the spray of the sea, to lose myself in the moment, not caring if a random bystander had wandered onto the scene. It was something only for myself, but to collaborate with a friend was even more empowering. To be able to share such a personal and unique experience with someone who completely understood what I wanted and why I wanted it created a beautiful bond between woman and nature. And further, between woman and woman.