Except me…

As seen on Reddit….

“Everyone deserves to be loved and respected,” I say out loud.

“Except you,” whispers a quiet voice in the back of my head.

“Everyone deserves to feel sexy, to feel desired, to have amazing photos taken of themselves,” I write on my blog.

“Except you,” says my inner critic.

“Everyone is special and deserves to be treated that way,” I cry from the top of the mountain.

“Except you,” comes the echo.

“Everyone is unique, and it is that uniqueness that makes them wonderful,” I say from the podium.

“Except you,” I hear myself call out from the back of the audience.

“Everyone is worthwhile and wonderful,” I whisper into the silence of the night. “Except me.”

*

How many of you hear that voice? I know I do. We are full of grace and love and forgiveness for everyone except ourselves. We look at our friends, full of their perfect imperfections, and think how marvellous they are. We see strangers and think to ourselves how beautiful they are, or how much their smile lights up the room.

And then we look at our own imperfections and wonder how we can still be accepted into society. How we haven’t had our membership card revoked because we don’t live up to the standards of society. We’re too fat, too strange, too … us to be a part of them.

Maybe it’s just me being an introvert. But I don’t think so. One of the things you learn about shooting people—especially in such an intimate environment as a boudoir shoot—is that everybody has issues. While body issues are typically at the fore, because the body is featured prominently in boudoir images, it’s not just body issues. None of us is perfect, all of us have issues.

Here’s the thing; when you feel like the world is judging you, when the world won’t accept you, ask yourself: is it others who are not accepting me? Or is it just me? Sometimes it is others. Let’s face it: the world can be a cruel place sometimes.

But sometimes, we take trauma that we experienced as kids, as teens, and we bring it along with us. There’s an old story about elephants that are chained up when they are younger. They struggle against the chain, but because they can’t break it, they stop struggling. And as adults, they are frequently bound with a thin rope that they could easily break, but because they learned as kids that they couldn’t break the chain, they give up. They stop struggling.

For me, it was Grade 8 that did me in. I can even remember the moment. As a class, we had divided into four or five groups and were out in the hallway at lunch, selling donuts. The goal was to be the group to sell the most donuts to the other students.

One day, we were done for the day and cleaning up. I don’t remember the situation leading up to the moment, but one of the other people in our group—let’s call her L—said: “We need someone who can do this properly. We don’t need you.”

We. Don’t. Need. You. Four little words and my soul was crushed. I kept doing what I was doing, but I did it slower. I dragged my feet, doing the last of my tasks, until I was the last person out in the hall, putting things away. Fighting back the tears. Once the hall was empty, I walked out the front door and walked home. I went into the basement, climbed into a closet and wept. I stayed there for hours, replaying those words in my head.

The next day, I returned to school, broken. I still was me, but I took everything as a slight; I interpreted everything I did as a failure, and I became sullen and uncommunicative. And, about halfway through the day, when it became too much, I walked away again. Went and hid in my closet. We don’t need you. And the next day. And the next. Indeed, it was a rare day the next four years for me to make it through a full school day without walking out. Everyone thought I was just pissed off and angry, but I was broken and close to tears and feeling unwanted and unneeded.

It was only after I left school that I realized that many of those moments of offence were caused by people who were also broken. Who weren’t trying to hurt me, merely to protect themselves. I likened it to a bunch of people all walking around with their heart on the outside of their chest, covered only by eggshell, who walked around with elbows up and eyes down to protect their own hearts, not worried about the damage that they might cause others. I had been one of them, except I wasn’t very good at protecting my heart. Every day it would get jostled and bumped. It was only when I looked up and saw everyone trying to protect their hearts, that I realized that they weren’t trying to hurt me maliciously, merely defensively.

I started walking around much more aware of others, trying not to bump them, trying to help them protect their hearts from being damaged. Trying to encourage them. Lift them up. I wasn’t very good. I was introverted and awkward and shy and a social maladroit. And in the back of my mind, I could still hear “We don’t need you” when I thought about helping, and so I wound up not helping, because they didn’t need me.

And anytime someone, elbows up, jostled me, that voice would whisper inside my head. Would call me down.

But the thing is? It was no longer the voice of the person who said that. It was my voice.

I bet if I were to talk to her, she’d never remember the moment. She’d tell me it was an offhanded comment, in the moment, that meant nothing more than we need someone who can accomplish these specific tasks. But decades along, it still defines who I am.

“Hi there, do you want me to take pictures of you,” I ask? “I take pretty good pictures.”

“No thanks,” comes the reply. And in the echo I hear “We don’t need you.” I know that not everybody wants to have boudoir photographs done. In my head, I know this—intellectually, I know that they are not saying this because of who I am, but because of who they are—but in my feels, I can’t help but feel like that shy, awkward 14 year old being told once again how unneeded he is.

That’s not what is said. It’s not even what is meant. But it is what I hear in the echoes. Because I bring my own issues of self worth along with me. Even now, decades later.

So know that I understand. If you feel too shy, or not pretty enough, or too big or too small. I’m right there with you. But I’ve seen how lives can change, at least in some small way, because I’ve shown people how I see them. Not as worthless, but as worthy, as someone who deserves to be celebrated for who they are. Not just because of this meat suit we all wear, but because of all of it: body, mind, spirit.

I want you to know that you are special and deserve to be honoured for who you are: yes, for your well-shaped buttocks, but also for your laugh, for that spark of confidence that shines through, for your joy and oddness and sensuality and sexuality and passion and willingness to roll around in the mud because the photographer suggested it. And I want you to know that everyone deserves beautiful photos of themselves.

Especially you.