Defining Yourself
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Here I was back at Jackson Memorial Hospital with my mother for my weekly dose of torture when needles full of some miracle fluid would be injected into huge welts in my face and neck. The worst part was when the doctor, a 7-foot German behemoth with the bedside manner of Frankenstein, would shove in the syringe and fill the welts with liquid. The pressure was immense. I thought my skin would burst. He did that as many times as there were welts and I had quite a few. Thankfully, by the next day, the pain and the welts had mostly vanished. I was ten years old then and had a horrible case of acne. It wasn’t only on my face and neck, but also on my chest, arms and upper back. For years, my parents shuttled me from one specialist to another in search of a cure. One of the last doctors they took me to recommended they squeeze all my pimples to get rid of them. Well, you can’t imagine how painful that was, but worse yet, the huge scars it left all over my chest and back. Scars I then had to live with during the hypersensitive teenage years and beyond.
I was so ashamed of my scars, I always hid them. Except for the beach, I never uncovered my arms; never revealed my shoulders; never showed a bit of cleavage. I hid under long sleeves even in the sweltering Miami heat. And then one day, at university I was having a conversation with a school counselor about my grades and, somehow, we got onto the subject of my arms and scars and hiding and he, very wisely, led me to see that I was holding myself back, not performing at my peak in school, but also imprisoning myself by covering up who I truly was. That was my “Aha!” moment, the moment I decided to allow myself to be free from the shame. And slowly, I started to liberate my skin.
Decades have passed and the scars have somewhat faded, but they’re still there. I just don’t see them. Haven’t for years. Those who know me know that I love to wear slinky shirts and dresses during summer. My skin may not be perfect, but I don’t care. It’s my skin and I love it. It turns golden in the summer (yay!) and vanilla in the winter, but I don’t hold that against her. I can honestly say that I now feel not just good, but pretty darn great in my own skin. And that’s truly liberating.
I’ve shared this story because when I started doing people and portrait photography, I encountered several scenarios. When asked to have their photo taken, men will either say yes or no – end of story. Women, on the other hand, either suddenly pose, which ruins the moment that I wanted to capture, or give me a litany of excuses why they aren’t ready to be photographed, “need to do my hair, my makeup, have surgery on my neck, get a nose job”. I’m serious! And it’s all nonsense of course, faulty misperceptions, because the reason I asked them to be photographed in the first place was because I had seen something attractive and beautiful in them right then and there. So, after thinking about this, I came up with a photojournalism project entitled 3+ Things I Love About Myself in which I ask women to make a list of those traits that they most love about themselves and then I endeavor to capture them in images.
These loves can be physical, of course: eyes, lips, hair, toes, skin.
They can be personal traits that we identify with: curious, creative, enigmatic, passionate, strong.
They can be things we love to do: read, sing, dance, wear colorful clothes, or box.
It’s everything that makes us unique and magnificent. Oh, I know magnificent is one of those big ole words. It conjures up greatness, opulence, majesty, extraordinary beauty. “Oh that’s not a word I can identify with”, I hear some of you think. Why not? It’s everything you are, deep down inside. You just have to believe it. Better yet, tap into it and experience it for yourself.
When I launched this project, I had no idea the amazing experiences I would be in for. Every woman I’ve photographed, even those I knew, has been like a jewelry box, that when opened is filled to the brim with bright, beautiful, colorful, even exotic gems – all unique and different and priceless.
In our society, we tend to compare ourselves to celebrities, the rich and famous, the powerful, the influencers, and then turn around and beat ourselves up for falling short. And then we focus on what we find ugly, undesirable or needing an upgrade in us and beat up on ourselves even more for that. With all that negativity, how can we possibly find ourselves magnificent? You do realize that these self-criticisms are just thoughts you’re thinking, right? Beliefs born out of your own misperceptions about yourself.
How many times has someone paid you a compliment that you either downplayed or outright poo pooed because you didn’t believe it? “This old thing? I’ve had it for years.”
You may have even argued against the compliment if it came from someone very close to you. “How can you say my hair looks good when it’s plain to see it looks like crap?”
While you may not be feeling great about yourself, think about what it feels like to be on the receiving end of that. Wouldn’t it make you feel unimportant–like your opinion doesn’t count-or hurt at the fact that what was meant as an honest, well-intentioned comment is not being considered?
Do you talk to yourself as if you were your best friend, or your worst enemy? Compassion starts with self.
Kristin Neff, a psychologist and a self-compassion expert, recommends three things:
1. being kind to yourself instead of self-critical
2. seeing your failures and mistakes as part of the human condition, not a personal failing, and
3. just noting your imperfections instead of ruminating about them.
I would add that we should focus on those aspects of ourselves we accept and embrace because, in so doing, we start accepting and embracing those we may not like so much, without even knowing we’re doing it.
What you focus on changes the structure and function of your brain, and therefore, becomes your reality. So from now on, any time you start to focus on something you dislike about yourself, STOP IT! Take a breath, and shift your focus to aspects of you you love.