I am woman, and so are you.

I’ve listened to one too many phenomenal women loathe their bodies. Friends and sisters, you know who you are. I’m here to share a self portrait of my own body. It’s a line in the sand for all of us.

I recently watched the Australian movie Embrace. It left me with a strong desire to connect with women and to celebrate women knowing we are so much bigger and better than our body loathing. I’ve been heavily inspired by female photographer Jade Beall who celebrates diversity in her work, particularly mother’s bodies. I’ve been connecting closely with some really inspiring women friends lately. And I have fire in my belly.

Why should we:

Worry about the size of our thighs?

Wait to accept our bodies once we’ve lost weight?

Find something new to loath if we do lose weight/tone up/get fit?

Worry that someone might feel repulsed by us?

Make excuses for the ‘condition’ of our bodies {“it’s because of birth/pregnancy/hormones/medication/thyroid/injury,” etc..}

Obsess so much about food and exercise – things that can be enjoyed?

Accept everyone but ourselves?

Let other women’s body insecurities and rules invade our minds?

Allow anyone to criticise another woman’s body?

Feel righteous about thinness and disapproval for those who are not?

 

Why should we give any credence to these thoughts, when:

There is so much more in this world – so much joy, so much pain, so much to create, so much to embrace, so much to learn, so much to give.

To do so brings us down as a whole. (Are we not connected and stronger for focusing on all of us – not just one of us?)

The strict codes we apply to ourselves are inadvertantly applied to our fellow women.

We could instead be supporting one another’s lives and endeavours.

 

As a photographer, I have only ever photographed ONE woman who was not nervous about having her portrait taken. Many women have shared terrible burdens with me about their body image, some have cried. I don’t want our daughters growing up with the same cruel voices in their heads.

When I uploaded this photograph, yes, I saw things I didn’t like. I wanted to clone, soften and fix.. but I didn’t. I’m going through a full and abundant season in my body and in what I am creating in my life. I’ve been thin and I’ve been fit. And I realise now it doesn’t matter what size we are: the inability to accept our body remains. Friends: I don’t care what your body looks like, I want to know what passions burn inside you, what you think, what you feel, what moves you to tears and how you express yourself.

In my portrait, I see the woman in me and the woman who is in you. I want the shadows and light my body has shaped here to remind you how beautiful and diverse we all are, and more importantly, how deeply feminine we all are. It represents all of us.

Photographing women is a passion for me. I want to continue to show women what we see beyond their body – their authentic self.

This has been heavily inspired by Maya Angelou’s poem Phenomenal Woman:  (click to hear her recite it.)

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size

But when I start to tell them,

They think I’m telling lies.

I say,

It’s in the reach of my arms,

The span of my hips,

The stride of my step,

The curl of my lips.

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

 

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,

And to a man,

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees.

Then they swarm around me,

A hive of honey bees.

I say,

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.

 

Men themselves have wondered

What they see in me.

They try so much

But they can’t touch

My inner mystery.

When I try to show them,

They say they still can’t see.

I say,

It’s in the arch of my back,

The sun of my smile,

The ride of my breasts,

The grace of my style.

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

 

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 me 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 for my care.

’Cause I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

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