THE PARTS OF ME I USED TO HIDE

There are parts of myself I learned to soften long before I understood I was doing it.

Not softness in the beautiful sense.

Editing.

Make this smaller. Say that differently. Don't wear that. Don't tell them this. Don't want too much. Don't reveal too much. Don't let them misunderstand you.

Women become exquisite editors.

We know how to read a room. How to adjust the volume of ourselves. How to reveal enough to feel authentic while keeping the pieces most likely to make someone uncomfortable tucked safely away.

I've done that.

With my opinions. With my desires. With my body. With the parts of me that are sensual. Ambitious. Curious. Complicated.

I've covered things because I didn't like them.

And I've covered other things because I liked them very much and wasn't sure what that said about me.

That's a strange realization.

Sometimes we aren't ashamed because something is ugly.

We're ashamed because it makes us feel alive.

I've thought about that while creating these photographs.

What am I actually revealing?

Skin?

Maybe.

But skin is almost the least interesting part.

The more meaningful reveal has been allowing myself to say:

This is also me.

Not all of me. Not available to everyone. Not requiring explanation.

But mine.

There is enormous freedom in integrating the parts of yourself you once kept in separate rooms.

The responsible woman. The playful woman. The powerful woman. The sensual woman. The spiritual woman. The woman who knows. The woman who has absolutely no idea.

They don't have to compete.

They can all come home.

I'm less interested now in becoming someone new.

I'm interested in becoming less divided.