I believe there’s a distinct Before and After when it comes to boudoir. 

Before I had my boudoir experience, I felt like I was fumbling around in my body. I was slowly coming acquainted with her, as we’ve had a tumultuous relationship thus far. My body has carried me through a tremendous amount, but has also served a significant amount of bullshit my way. Surgeries. Scars. Chronic Illness. A rare genetic mutation (X-Men is SHAKING, y’all). Trauma. Stress. Self-destructive impulses. We’re learning how to get along with each other, my body and I. My body wasn’t feeling full and luscious and powerful, but we’ve gone through a lot together. It’s been draining. 

Before I had my boudoir experience, more often than not, my body felt like it was for others to use and parce at will — as if I was on display at a buffet. And everyone in line, be they marketing executives, medical experts, shitty ex-boyfriends, or patriarchal standards, were slathering at the bit and holding plates waiting to dig in. The pleasure of being in my body was never at the center of my lived experience due to the unerring suspicion that my bodily autonomy and agency were up for grabs. I could be picked and prodded and have no say in the matter. 

Something had to change. I wanted change. I was ready for change. I didn’t like feeling this way about myself. Living like this hurt too badly. Deep in my aching bones, I knew that my body and I deserved better. I began a yoga practice and discovered different spaces that I enjoyed moving my body like at a feminist pole dancing studio or at the beach. Suck it, gym! I started reading Pleasure Activism by adrienne maree brown. I got a lot of tattoos. The boudoir idea was slowly percolating, I just didn’t have the language for it yet, but I had a goal. I knew I wanted to flip my perspective on Being In My Body. With so much of life out of my control, I could center something healing and important, something that would make Lizzo proud of me: feeling good as hell. 

This notion felt extravagant, revolutionary, and so very necessary. So I booked the shoot with Taylor at Goddess Within Boudoir.

With boudoir, the radical lesson I had been slowly learning finally cemented: My body is a good body because it is my body. My body is not for doctors, men, the patriarchy, diet culture or anyone else but me. I felt like a Maya Angelou poem personified.

I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me

My photographer’s gentle push and carefully curated space was exactly what I needed, when I needed it. My body became a source of self-pleasure, outside of the male gaze or a man’s valuation of what he can take from the experience of being with me. I was no longer a reflection of what a man, unfair standard, or oppressive structure thought of me. It felt so luxurious and free to be in front of the camera. I wasn’t trapped in my body, I was in partnership with my body. All of my curvy, fleshy, pleasureable goodness — just for me.

It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

After my boudoir experience, I’m just grateful for how it aligned so perfectly with my feminist values. I was able to support a creative, female-run small business. I was able to use my dollars with intention. I was able to celebrate women through each of my choices that day. And I’m so thankful I picked Taylor for my photographer. Taylor unabashedly loves women and you can see it through her lens. And she loves and sees women in the way I want to be loved and seen: in my fullness, richness, and power. She empowers you to be big and take up space and be sexy and silly and sensuous. And she lives by her body positive values by refusing to perpetuate diet culture by photoshopping or FaceTuning clients. I felt radiant. 

I’ve noticed the ripple effects that have come after my boudoir shoot. I’ve been purposeful about broadening my body positivity, at least on Instagram. I’ve been curating my feed. Now, I see more fat bodies, old bodies, brown and black bodies, queer bodies, disabled bodies, bodies with hair, scars, dimples, cellulite and modifications — all of them beautiful in their own right. 

Boudoir taught me that I am enough as I am. I left the session glowing and haven’t come down off my high since. Now, I know with confidence that my body deserves kindness, celebration, and more black lace lingerie that doesn’t give me a wedgie. Spending the afternoon writhing on a vintage couch in leather jacket and 7 inch heels is self care. 

Some of the previous pressure that was once so crushing —that stress of being me in this body — has been lifted. I have more generosity and patience with my body now. We’re still slowly getting on good terms, but we’re making progress.

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see my passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care.
‘Cause I’m a woman.
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.