This week's RemembeRED prompt ... Everyone has a favorite photo of themself, whether it’s a childhood snapshot, a professional graduation or wedding photograph, or a close-up taken amongst friends. Some say a photograph steals the soul. This week, show us yours: take us into the moment that photograph was taken. Show us who you were then and what the photograph means–in 300 words.
I don't recognise myself in this photo, 13 years in the making. I can remember the satin gliding over my skin. I can remember slowly relaxing into the comfort of the white cotton duvet on the bed. I can remember the reassuring, relax, encouraging voice of the photographer. But I don't actually recognise the long, strong, lean legs, or the direct, confident eyes.
The first time I heard of 'boudoir photos' I was unhappily married, unhappily over-weight, and looking for something to make myself feel better about ... everything. When I mentioned it to my husband, his responses included key phrases such as (in no particular order) 'slutty' 'waste of money' 'I can see you anyday' and 'why would anyone want pictures of a fat cow.' I guess somehow the fact that I wanted the pictures for me was lost on him ... or perhaps that was encapsulated in 'waste of money.' Bygones ... I knew that at some point my money would be my own. Only when my money was my own, splurging on photos of myself, when there was barely enough for rent and food at times, was not an option.
Thirteen years later, the dream came to life. I'm still over-weight, but loved and more frequently happy. I had one hour with the photographer, some coaching ahead of time, and a discrete hotel room. I was far more nervous than I expected. And far more pleased with the results. And, it turns out - those 200 photos - they really are for me.