The Art of Seeing Myself: A Love Story in Progress

Are You Ready to See Your Photos?

"I hesitate," I say, almost to myself, a quiet whisper that feels more like an exhale. “Yes,” I reply softly, shying away as she scrolls to her favorite shot.

The image fills the screen, and for a long moment, I can only sit there, caught in stillness. My body—its curves, the softness of my skin, the delicate light tracing the edges—feels almost unfamiliar and yet unmistakably me. It’s as if I’m meeting a hidden part of myself, one I’ve been waiting to see for a lifetime. For a heartbeat, I’m granted a glimpse of something that’s eluded me for years—a reflection of my own beauty.

I booked this photoshoot on a whim, intuitively. I’ve been photographed a lot over the past few years for my business, but this was different. There was something about what this company was doing—a commitment to capturing the intimacy and nakedness of women in a way that felt genuine, unfiltered, and transformative—that drew me in. This wasn’t about branding or image; it was about vulnerability, and I knew I had to be a part of it.

A Journey to Self-Recognition

Two weekends ago, I found myself in Austin, Texas, surrounded by friends and women I had never met before. We were gathered for a healing retreat, each of us there with our own reasons, bound by a devotion to liberation and self-exploration. In those first hours, we participated in a meditation meant to guide us to meet our 99-year-old selves—a journey to encounter the wisdom of our future selves, a wisdom so deep it feels as if it could only rise from the bones, from the soul’s oldest, truest parts.

I won’t share every detail of what surfaced in that meditation, but I’ll tell you this: my 99-year-old self cupped my face with her gentle, weathered hands. Her eyes were soft but steady, reflecting a life lived fully, courageously. She looked at me with such tenderness, almost with a quiet urgency, as if she had waited decades to say, “I wish you could see your beauty.”

The impact of her words hit me like a wave, unexpected and all-encompassing. Later, in a sharing circle, I opened up about the experience, about how her words settled in my chest, stirring something long dormant. As I spoke, I felt my body grow heavier, the weight of her words pulling me into myself, grounding me. “I’m tired of feeling like I’m not beautiful,” I said, and as the words left my lips, gentle tears followed, releasing years of tightly held tension. For the record, I know I’m not “ugly.” There’s a part of my mind—the cognitive part—that knows I have what’s often called “pretty privilege.” But beauty is more complex than that, isn’t it? Knowing and feeling are worlds apart.

Learning to See Myself

This year, I’ve made it my intention to truly see myself. One of my favorite creators on TikTok, Greta, has a series about “being sexy for yourself.” She explores the delicate art of self-confidence and beauty in a way that feels deeply liberating. Her words linger in my mind, urging me to ask: What does it mean to embody beauty from within, to truly see yourself?

In many ways, it’s easy for me to feel confident in other areas of my life. I know I’m kindhearted, emotionally mature. I’m proud of the business I’ve built, the life I’ve crafted by the age of 26. But somewhere along the way, I leaned heavily on my accomplishments for validation. Growing up, I didn’t see myself as “the sexy girl.” I was the quirky, smart one—the girl who was “cute,” but never stunningly beautiful. And at 15, that distinction felt monumental, defining. Even now, after years of therapy and self-work, I recognize a part of me that clings to that identity.

Body image, self-perception, and identity intersect in strange ways. I have a history with eating disorders, and although I’ve done the work to heal, some habits linger. There are days when the mirror feels like an adversary, reflecting flaws that loom larger than they should. The shape of my hips, the size of my chest—small thoughts that some days cloud the gratitude I have for my body’s resilience and strength.

Reclaiming Beauty as a Ritual

But here’s where I want things to change. I no longer want to be at odds with my reflection. I want to honor my body, to see it as sacred. Recently, I’ve found solace in beauty rituals that feel like acts of devotion rather than self-criticism. Whether lifting weights, practicing Pilates, or dressing with intention, I’m learning to cultivate a sense of reverence. I’ll wear my favorite jewelry, spritz on perfume, adorn myself not for anyone else, but as an offering to my own worthiness.

Photography has become part of this process—a way to deepen my intimacy with my body, to witness its beauty through a different lens. Over the last few years, every photo shoot has felt like a gentle nudge, an invitation to acknowledge my own radiance. Each click of the shutter is a moment of surrender, a quiet acceptance of this body, this vessel.

A Life Beyond Body Image

As I look ahead, I think of my 99-year-old self, the one who held my face with such grace. I wonder: How would she want me to live? I know she wouldn’t want me to spend these precious years battling my own reflection. She would want me to live fully, to experience my beauty not as something to be attained or earned, but as something that simply is—a part of me, woven into the fabric of my being.

This journey isn’t about vanity; it’s about presence, about embracing the wholeness of who I am. It’s about letting go of identities that no longer serve, releasing narratives that keep me small. And maybe, just maybe, I can start to see myself as my 99-year-old self sees me: beautiful, whole, and profoundly enough.