faye.

May 26th, 2020 10:58PM

I struggled with self-image for a long time. As black women, western culture creates these traumatizing constructs that attempt to strip us to the bone of any defense we were given by birthright, and any sense of freedom is swaddled before we even hear our own cry. We are judged on every angle, from every angle, including our own. When you’ve spent your whole life not living up to even your own standards, it takes a toll. My nudity became a mirror. I reflected everything the culture told me I should be, and how deeply embedded those unachievable standards were into my own self-image. 

I had to be nude to see it. I had to be nude to address it. I had to be nude to embrace it as a chance to grow. 

My nude is not only being “naked.” That’s just the metaphor. My nude is exposing everything beyond what I choose to show on the regular – everything out of “my control”. It is my whole self, through the vessel of my bare body, being as free and “inappropriate” as the constructs themselves. 

I am reaching a fearless point of realization when it comes to self acceptance. People will always see what they want judge how they want. They’ll judge me on my curves (or lack thereof). Judge me on my acne scars, my teeth or hair or ass or tits. This is how the constructs were created. So now, all I ask is that you don’t stop there –Judge me too on my momma’s smile lines and my daddy’s heart. Judge me on my relentlessness. My pride juxtaposed with my willingness to learn. Judge my failures and the subsequent triumph. See me – all of me, because I am truly an epic work of art. I am my own construct. 

And if you can’t see, then I will gladly show you a mirror.