When I was drinking, at my heaviest I was fifty pounds overweight. The extra calories from the wine itself, paired with the fact that most of my calories were being eaten late at night just before bed, meant that my weight had slowly crept up despite my physically active job.
Near the end of my drinking days, I felt this profound sense of loss of autonomy over my own body. Not only could I not control my addiction, but I felt like I had lost my sense of control over my physical health and wellbeing. I felt uncomfortable in my clothes, in my skin, in my own body. This type of self-loathing created a cycle inside my head of wanting to escape from myself when I could. When I was much younger, my escape came from self-mutilation. Now that I was older, it was right into a few glasses of wine- which was, of course, only making things worse.
When I finally quit, I saw my body start to change. It was a nice side effect, but at the time the least of my concerns. I had intermittent bouts of nausea and vomiting for a few months, a stint of mono, my anxiety had come back full force without the aid of alcohol to depress my nervous system, and so many other strange side effects from the withdrawals. Although the weight was slowly coming off, I still felt stuck inside this old version of myself. This was not just about my body, but about who I was as a person. My mind was just beginning to mend, to catch up with who I felt I wanted and needed to be, but my body- although changing- was still a reminder of the horrible way I treated myself.
My new sobriety came with some other difficult effects when it came to my relationship. Alcohol had given me confidence, a “who cares” mentality about my weight and my body in general. When I took that away, a deep sense of guilt and shame about my body appeared. I didn’t like to be touched. While I once wouldn’t mind my boyfriend seeing me in next to nothing, I covered up quickly when he walked into the room. Our sex life suffered. Not only was I spending less time at home while I went to AA meetings, the quality of our time was diminished by the fact that I skirted away from any kind of physical affection.
Thank goodness that my now fiancé was so unbelievably understanding and patient during that time. He gave me the space and support I needed to begin to see myself the way he saw me. By the time I realized that my larger clothes really weren’t fitting properly anymore, I was finally starting to feel like I had some semblance of a grasp on my sobriety, and I was just starting to come to terms with my new life.
Since that time, I have lost fifty pounds, gained back thirty and lost another ten (for you non-math-ers, I’m now in a healthy range, but still about twenty pounds away from my “ideal” weight). More important than numbers, though, is that my fiancé and I have both been making some positive changes in the way we eat and exercise. I am starting to feel better about my body, both physically and mentally. Over the course of the last year, I’ve tried to practice lots of self-acceptance and embrace positive body image, so when my fiancé and I first got engaged, I saw boudoir and thought YES. I WANT TO DO THAT. Fast forward a few months later and enter: Kevyn Dixon Cress.
Through some serendipitous Facebook action, and some quick tagging on the part of my wedding planner, Kevyn and I connected. This was on a Thursday, and we planned the shoot for that coming Saturday. Over the course of the next two days, here is a map of where my emotions went:
Excitement > Hesitation > Confidence > Panic > Excitement Again >
Utter Meltdown > Self-Reassurance > F*ck It
My “f*ck it” moment came the morning of the shoot. I looked in the mirror at this body that wasn’t perfect, and I thought “Who cares?” With all of the inclusive body images we are starting to see, I still had this notion that because I wasn’t a lean, tiny size 2, I didn’t deserve to have my photo taken. That somehow my body didn’t deserve to be seen in any meaningful way, to be photographed beautifully. My insecurities, both from my time while drinking and well before, came in waves but I ultimately decided that this was something I needed to do, in part, because it was uncomfortable. This was a way for me to conquer a long-held fear of the nagging scrutiny of the female form.
So two weeks ago, on a mild Saturday morning, I pulled up to a local spot called Bungalow 1325 with a bag full of soft sweaters and lingerie, and went inside to wait for Kevyn.
As you can see, the place is stupid gorgeous.
Guys- modeling is freaking weird. And not easy to do. The session went off without a hitch, though- Kevyn made sure she gave me lots of good direction and I felt super at ease. It almost felt surreal, like I wasn’t myself. I was so busy concentrating on the direction Kevyn was giving to me that I didn’t have time to think “Could’ve lost another ten pounds before you did this” or “Hope you don’t look like an idiot in these.” In our two days between booking and the actual shoot, I literally hadn’t had time to second guess myself and it was definitely too late now. We chatted a lot, and laughed, and I seriously never thought I would ever ask anyone other than my BFF, “Is this too nipple-y?”
After the shoot, I can’t say I felt empowered or emboldened or anything similar- only that I had done something for myself that I felt would help solidify the notion I had been struggling to maintain: You Are Enough.
Yesterday, I got a notification that Kevyn had sent me a photo. I opened it with a mix of apprehension and excitement.
I had to stare at it for a few seconds. My fiancé asked what I was smiling about and I showed him. This is the photo she sent.
This girl in this photo is me. My hair, my face, my smile, my hands, my knees- but for me this is so much more than a photo. This is a reflection, a mirror held up to everything I’ve tried to achieve in the last 17 months. This easy smile I see on my face, my engagement ring, these are promises I’ve made to myself and others to try my best to be a light in this world when I held myself in the darkness of addiction for so long. I feel honored to have this moment in time captured, honored to have been a participant in Kevyn’s exploration and cultivation of her craft, honored to have treated my body with the dignity and reverence that I never quite felt it deserved.
This session, these photos, they speak to me on a personal level. They are in stark contrast to the woman I was before I got sober. They are, and will always be, a reminder: Look how far you’ve come, and how far you can still go. You are beautiful. You are whole. You are enough.
I want to thank Kevyn Dixon Cress for her beautiful work. Kevyn is an amazing talent, and more of her work can be seen on her website and Instagram pages.
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