PHOTO CREDIT: Ross Long Photography
If I only I had half as much as confidence as this come hither koala… I mean, this guy just strikes a pose and owns it.
I’ve never thought of myself as the most photogenic person, and I don’t really enjoy getting my picture taken. I don’t know how to “work” the camera. My smiles often feel forced. Before anyone even exclaims, “Say cheese!” I’m already wondering if I’ll like the photo. I’m tipping my chin just this way, and making sure my arms are slightly away from my body since I’ve heard, that doing so, yields more flattering photos.
I’m overthinking a stupid snap in time way too much. My signature look might as well be Gauche Grin to Zoolander’s Blue Steel.
Last weekend I slipped into a favorite, floral dress and paired it with lemon-yellow suede pumps that just make me happy with their sunny hue. I curled my hair and made sure there wasn’t any lipstick on my teeth.
My daughters commented on how pretty my dress was.
My husband told me I looked beautiful.
I almost believed him.
We wrangled the kids into the car and hit the road to attend my niece’s baptism. I was her proud godmother, playing a special role as we welcomed this sweet nugget into the Catholic Church. Following the beautiful baptism, we gathered together as a family to share in good food and even better company.
On the way home, my phone buzzed and I saw that my brother had texted me photos of the event – some posed and some candid. I’d felt so happy, grateful, and fulfilled until I saw the photos of me. The candid ones were okay. (I always prefer candid photos to the posed ones because they just feel more authentic and natural.)
But the photos of us after the baptism, smiling for the camera? I hated every single one of them. I was so fixated on how I looked, I barely even noticed my loved ones surrounding me. Narcissistic much? I became consumed with how heavy I (thought) I looked, how my eyes looked scrunched up and too tiny for my puffy face, and how my skin looked washed-out, pasty, and pliant as if my featured had been sculpted from soft dough.
I actually felt my eyes prick with hot tears. I hated how photographs of myself could make me feel this way. I equally hated how self-consumed I’d become on a day that wasn’t about me. I knew that no one picks apart how other people look in photos as much as they pick apart themselves. I hated I was wasting time and emotional energy on engaging in unhealthy thoughts. I blinked back the tears; yet, I could not stop my inner critic from continuing to taunt me.
Despite how much I didn’t want it to happen, and how I despised myself for falling prey to yet another body image pitfall, my thoughts quickly succumbed to a downward spiral of body angst and diet blather.
You are not beautiful. These photos are proof. All of this intuitive eating has just made you gain weight. You’re letting yourself go. You need to step on the scale and see just how much weight you’ve gained. You used to look so much prettier and thinner. Your face is getting rounder every day. Maybe all the extra weight is why you can’t overcome your running injuries or get faster. Oh, and you’re starting to look old, too.
I know I wasn’t seeing clearly in that moment. I know, too, that there are too many times – despite the tremendous strides I’ve made when it comes to body acceptance and positivity – that the old relics of my eating disordered past come back to haunt me.
I hesitate to share my ongoing struggles and moments like this for a lot of reasons. I don’t want to come off as fishing for compliments – how can someone like you not see how blessed and beautiful you are? Yada, yada, yada. How is this world home to hoards of gifted people who have successful careers, and yes, even socially acceptable bodies yet chronically wrestle with insecurity? Cerebrally and even sometimes at the heart level, I recognize my value and all that I have to offer the world that has nothing to do with a pretty smile or how I might look in a photo, but living as if I believe this day by day, minute by minute, poses a far greater challenge.
One counselor I worked with reminded me that even the most balanced and healthy people still have days when they don’t like how they look or they find certain photos to be unflattering, but the difference is they don’t let those feelings take over their thoughts or their life or allow them to consume their self-worth. Instead of believing I am ugly or I am worthless, they recognize the feelings.
Okay, so I feel like I look more like Shrek than a supermodel in that photo. Whatever. It’s just an image of me; it’s not reality. I feel worthless after I hurt a friend’s feelings, but I am not worthless. I can fix this.
I may not be the perfect positive body image role model out there, but I’m an authentic one. I’m not going to pretend to have everything figured out or to have never have days when I’m tempted to collapse into a heap of self-doubt. Yes, there are days when I “appearance check” too much in the mirror, but there are far more days when I give praise to what my body can do for me and I get out there and use these hands, feet, my smile, my laugh, and my voice to love, affirm, and serve others.
There are meals I regret or don’t enjoy out of fear of the calories or the “bad” food I am eating, but there are far more meals I savor and enjoy sans a side of guilt.
There are photos I don’t like. Posing for pictures still usually makes me anxious. Selfies feel incredibly awkward, but at the same time they are helping me to relax and just be myself and unleash my inner dork. I’m getting more comfortable with smiling and just trying to be me before the camera clicks. When I see a photo I don’t like or I’m tempted to think I look frumpy or overweight or whatever, I remind myself of how many old photos I used to despise but now cherish – like the one of me leaning over a sink, washing dishes with my Madeline as a toddler (she’s now 14). I vividly remember thinking my hair looked bad in the photo and not liking the way my arms looked. Now I don’t notice any flaws. All I see is a mama spending time with a little girl who grew up far too quickly.
And truth is, there are some photos that are just unflattering. There’s one of me in a white dress standing at the end of a long row of people at a family wedding. I remember thinking I looked like a body builder. I still don’t care for the photo. My shoulders are broader than The Rock’s in it. But actually they’re not. The photo is completely distorted. That happens sometimes, and I’m learning to laugh it off.
I bet most of you haven’t liked every photo of you ever captured. Seeing pictures of ourselves can impede us from truly embracing body positivity. A not-so-flattering a photo or one we perceive as being unflattering keep us stuck obsessed with our flesh and yes, oppressed because the more time we spend loathing ourselves and our images on film or otherwise, the less time and energy we can devote to making a real difference in this world that is hungry for a woman’s compassionate touch and strength.
So what’s the answer? Avoid the camera? No. Our beloved Pop once confessed that he was very self-conscious of having his photo taken, but he didn’t let that stop him from getting in front of the camera for family photos. I’m so grateful for the many images we have of him with my kids because he passed away suddenly and surprisingly last year.
No, the solution isn’t hiding from the camera. It’s smiling for your close-up, but then also reminding yourself that a photo is just a representation of you – a composite of lighting and angles. Sometimes a picture is an illusion that we too often take for reality or blow completely out of proportion. Maybe a photo sometimes adds 10 pounds – but that doesn’t mean it’s real. A bad photo doesn’t mean we are bad. Neither does an added 10 pounds real or not. I’ve seen photos taken days apart where my hair looks almost platinum blonde in one and then strawberry blonde in another. Neither of these shades is really my hair’s reality. My hair is a medium-shade of blonde with a few sunshine-kissed streaks.
Ironically, if a dozen of photos are taken of me from one event, there’s bound to be one I don’t hate or even a few I don’t think are half-bad, but I’m the same person in all of the photos. Or I’ll capture a selfie to use on social media because I lack photography skills to pair any other image with the words I’m yearning to write, and I’ll approve of the one I post because I can take several and pitch my chin just so and get the lighting right or rely on a jazzy Instagram filter. Both the “bad” photos and the ones with my critical stamp of approval are of the same person. It’s not as if that less than flattering shot I loathed from three days earlier and the becoming selfie represent someone who is drastically different or has changed aesthetically in a matter of days. It’s just me.
You can’t capture your essence on film or in the glowing rectangle of a smartphone.
Don’t get stuck in a place of judgment. Acknowledge everyone has ugly days and takes a bad picture or two. You don’t need a picture perfect close-up or life to get out there and evoke positive change. The world is waiting for your witness.