Lady Sings the Blues (and smells like BBQ)

They say that 45% of people usually make New Year's Resolutions.  And by "they" I guess I mean the University of Scranton's Journal of Psychology, from which I got my statistics, but at least I didn't make them up this time.  Of those, only 8% have success.  49% have infrequent success and 24% never succeed and fail at their resolution every single year.  (I believe the remaining 19% were too hungover New Year's Day to remember what they resolved to do.  Or maybe they were distracted by cat videos on YouTube.)

Six months ago I made some resolutions.  They were not about weight loss, though that's not necessarily a bad goal if properly motivated.  I just don't believe in starting off my year bathing in a pool of self-loathing like most who resolve to lose weight on that day.  Instead I wanted to approach the topic of body confidence and body love from a resolution angle.  What goal can I set that I have avoided my whole life because of how I felt about my appearance?

Well, you all know I don't like having my picture taken.  Never have - that's no secret.  So one of my goals was to commit to 30 Days of Selfies in order to take back the power of the camera and learn to be more present rather than afraid.  I did it.  I took a photo of myself every day.  I only gave myself one or two shots at the most and I just went with it.  Sometimes I was at the gym.  Sometimes I was on my couch.  Sometimes I forgot until the end of the night and took one on my pillow. Sometimes I had cried all day. Sometimes I even wore a bra and make-up. (Moments saved for special occasions.)  By the end of the 30 days I was entirely sick of photos of myself but they no longer elicited any emotional reaction beyond, "Oh.  There I am again.  That's me."  I felt I had some success.

Speaking of which.

My other resolution had to do with vocal lessons.  I love to sing.  LOVE it.  I have no delusions about fame and fortune with my mediocre talent but it brings me such joy and all the same feel-good endorphins that a workout also gives me. I've always wanted to take vocal lessons but I knew they would almost always end with some kind of performance.  And THAT is what I just couldn't do.  Not only because I wasn't that great but because I was fat.  Not thin enough, not pretty enough, not talented enough, not confident enough, not perfect enough.  Not enough.  So I haven't had a lesson since the last one I took with my junior high choir director.

I have declared this last year since my 39th birthday my Year of Bravery.  I've made concerted efforts to do the things that scared me the most.  I wore a two piece swimsuit in public last Summer.  I had photos taken in my drawers.  There were numerous other personal braveries that I tackled.  But there was still another thing I was afraid of that was within my grasp as the age of 40 rushed at me at breakneck speeds.

After my month of selfies I contacted a vocal coach, Connie Olson, at the recommendation of a friend.  Within a week I had my first meeting with her and she asked me to be a part of the Showcase she has for her students at that very meeting.  I thought she was out of her mind.  I was terrified to sing in front of just her, let alone an audience.  But Connie was adamant and she's hard to refuse.

I took vocal coaching lessons with Connie from mid-February until June and in that time I could tell my confidence was growing.  My singing was stronger, my embarrassment was miniscule and my joy was abundant.  And never when I was with her did I think about not being pretty enough or thin enough to sing.

Until I thought about that performance, that is.  The thought of it still made me nauseated but I was committed.  June came fast.  Too fast. As the date of our performance at Famous Dave's BBQ & Blue's Club approached I started getting more and more nervous but I couldn't back out.  I told too many people.  Jesus, I shared it on Facebook, the most concrete and eternal of all promises.  I had to do it now.

I was nervous about the singing for sure but I was more nervous about how I would look.  I'm just not meant for the stage and I'm fine with that.  Too fine.  God, what in the hell am I going to wear? I found a dress that was curvy and feminine and sexy, I thought, without being too revealing since my kids would be there.  I took a few selfies (yay, me!) and sent them to some friends to get the nod of approval.  I got it.  I know I've gained weight but this dress made me feel good.  See?  Not so bad, right?  *cough*  We'll get back to that in a bit.

Connie asked me to sing three songs instead of the typical one for newbies and I had chosen three songs that I knew like the back of my hand.  Bluesy, jazzy, old school.  Perfect.

About two weeks before the show I found out we lost our sax player to another gig.  I could NOT not have a sax player with my songs.  Panic! Since I happen to know one of the best around I contacted Walter Chancellor Jr. and he was willing to help, thank God.  What an honor to share my first time on a stage with so much talent.

To say I freaked out over the final week or two would be an understatement.  I worried.  I panicked.  I literally made myself ill.  I'm not lying when I tell you my anxiety was through the roof.  Just ask my husband who had to give me daily pep talks or my friends who helped me after my post-rehearsal melt-down.  I was scared shitless.  Shit. Less.

I did come very close to vomiting the morning of the show.  Which would have been a damn shame because it was a Sunday.  And anyone who knows me knows that my family always has bacon on Sundays.  Always.  It's our church.  To vomit up bacon would be a mortal sin in my book. I held it together, though.  Fortunately by the time I started showering and getting ready I started to feel better.  I did my hair, put on my makeup, some heels and that dress.  That damn dress.  Anyway, I felt beautiful, which is a victory in and of itself, and I was as ready as I was going to get.

Throughout the afternoon, over several hours, I got Stuart Smalley type texts from a friend of mine who follows my blog and apparently uses my own advice against me.  I can't tell you how much they meant to me that day.  I was laughing by the last one and that's exactly what I needed. I saved them all.  Here they are:

"You know you look fantastic, right?"
"You also know how much fun you are, right?"
"You also know how smart you are, right?"
"You also know you have fabulous hair, right?"
"You need to take a selfie right now.  Duck lips and all." (I did and sent her one after another prompting)
"I also know you're wearing amazing shoes"
"I like your knees and your toes, too.  They're pretty awesome."

She sent all these texts without telling me she was coming.  When she walked in I was shocked and so very grateful.  My family was also there - my husband, kids, mom, aunt, cousin and baby 2nd-cousin who loved her first trip to a bar.  Fitting it was with me.

 In addition, some of the women I love most in the world were there.  The ones that put up with all my crap.  The ones that listened to me cry when I left the job that I loved.  The ones that support me daily and unconditionally.  I couldn't have asked for more.

I was surrounded by love and friendship and cheers and hugs.  I could do this, right?  RIGHT?

My first song was pretty awful.  I'm not gonna lie.  The tempo was off with the band so I was off and I never actually got it under control.  Was it worthy of American Idol when they make fun of the worst singers around?  No.  But it wasn't my best.  The second song I started to rally.  Much better.  The third song, Queen Latifah's cover of "Baby, Get Lost" from her standards album, The Dana Owens Album, was when I really felt like I did my thing for someone who has never been on a stage in her life.  Having a spectacular sax musician right next to me sho' nuff didn't hurt, either, but that's the video I'm going to share with you shortly.

When I got down from that stage, amid the hooting and hollering of not only my people but others in the crowd, I was all fired up.  Fired up with adrenaline and relief but most of all pride.  God damn it, I did it.  I really did it.  The adrenaline high was so strong I couldn't even eat much of my BBQ ribs after.  Now you know that's some serious excitement.  I was flying high the rest of the night and into the next morning.

When I got in the car to drive home I snapped another selfie of myself (because that's kind of how I roll now).  This is what pride looks like.  And feeling achieved.  And blessed.  And relieved.  And grateful, for myself and everyone else who supported me.  This is what knocking another item off the bucket list looks like.  This is 6 months almost to the day Resolution Success.

This is also "My shoes are starting to hurt my feet"

Now I knew my family took some video on a tiny pocket camcorder and I had enough sense to wait a couple of days to watch it.  I wanted to keep feeling all those feels.  I wanted to not think about how I looked or how I sounded and I wanted to be happy that I. Just. Did. It.  But I knew I was going to have to look eventually because I wanted to share it with you all.  So I looked.

If I had to guess just how negatively those videos would impact me I would never have come close to the full amount of self-loathing I was capable of.  They were bad.  So, so bad.  Not the singing - the singing was just as I described.  But how I looked.  I was devastated.

Now, it's no secret that I have gained weight.  A considerable amount in fact.  You only have to run in to me at Target in my stretchy pants and hoodie to discover that.  But what I saw in that video compared to what I saw in the photos I took of my dress and the selfie I took in the car were light years apart.  Light years.   Maybe it was the poor quality camcorder.  Maybe it was unflattering stage lighting showing every bump and roll. Maybe I was just swelled up like a tick.  Maybe the old myth about the camera adding 10 lbs was true and I had exactly 72.5 cameras on me. 

All I know is that it broke my spirit.  For a couple of days.  I was shocked and embarrassed and mortified that I got up there.  And just in case you think I am over-reacting, my husband did agree that the video was "unflattering" which is about as close to the honest truth as I'm going to get from a smart man who knows how to word things properly for his woman on the edge.

I had a pity party for exactly two days.  Then a friend told me she hid in the back room of her house when her husband's friend, whom they hadn't seen since their wedding, stopped by for a visit.  She hid because of how she looked.

And then I decided enough is e-fucking-nough.

I am fat.  Much fatter than I used to be or that I want to be. And perhaps I don't know how to choose outfits that are flattering under stage lights.  Maybe the video was worse than it looked in person or maybe I do actually look like that and I'm delusional. Maybe this didn't heal me from worrying about how I look.  Whatever.  It doesn't take away from what I did.  And that's what made me the most angry at myself.  I allowed what I DID for myself to be diminished by how I LOOK.  When will that stop?  We let ourselves be made small in the very face of our huge accomplishments because we aren't perfect enough on the outside.  It's got to stop and stop right now. 

My biggest fear was getting up on a stage to do the thing I loved and looking bad or sounding bad.  And the very things I was afraid of happened to some extent.  And no one died.  And no one kicked me off stage.  And no one, aside from myself, even said horrible things to me.  Perhaps I won, not because I have conquered the fear but because I did it in spite of it.  I am not fearless by any means.  But I can call myself brave now.  Lessons are never learned from perfection.  They are learned when, in the face of imperfection, you still act.

So what was my lesson?  I'm glad you asked.  I may have forgotten for a hot minute what I set out to do by performing on a stage.  I got caught up in ego.  I may be a slow ass learner but I'm getting there.  The lesson is this:  What I do for myself and for others and how those things make me feel are the only things that matter in this life.  How I looked while I did them?  That's nothing.  It's not often I get to feel proud of myself and successful and beautiful all at the same time.  I don't ever want to take that gift away from myself again.

I'm reminded of an article that I read recently on HuffPo by Glennon Melton and shared on my Facebook page.  I recommend the read but one thing that struck me was the line, "If you do not feel beautiful then FILL UP, Precious Sister."  Fill up on all the lovely experiences because that's where a beautiful life comes from.  And when I got down from singing I felt pride in what I had achieved in facing my fear.  I felt all the love of those supporting me.  I felt radiant.  To hell with the dress.

I got up on that stage, not because I'm thin enough, pretty enough, talented enough, confident enough, or perfect enough.  But because, god damn it, I FUCKING CAN.

I'm sharing a video with you of that last song.  In the spirit of full disclosure I will tell you that it's not the full body shot that I saw and disliked but it still doesn't exactly match what I see in the mirror.  However, I promised to be vulnerable and open and that means you get to delight in my amateur singing abilities as well as my sailor mouth and pantsless jokes.  Enjoy.

Hey, Forty?  Come at me, bro.

Birthday Cake

I'm going to be 40. When?  Someday.  In a little over ten months to be exact.  But it's there.  It's just sitting there.  (name that movie!)  40 is coming whether I like it or not and I've actually decided I like it.  I'm ready.  I've got this.

A long time ago I decided that we were going to take a huge trip overseas for my 40th birthday.  It was going to be amazing, full of castles and Scotch and kilts, by God.  Except now we aren't going because, well, life.  It happens.  So I decided I would make a bucket list of all the things I wanted to experience in my 40th year.  Then I realized that I really don't want to go skydiving or be in a flash mob or learn to play guitar.  And traveling?  We already covered that.  The bucket list idea started to feel like a "to-do" list and I've got enough shit to do, thank you very much.

I remember a conversation I had with my sister-in-law when I was turning 30.  I told her I felt like my 20's were about figuring out who I was and that I hoped my 30's were about making peace with those revelations.  She told me that the 40's were about "not giving a fuck what anyone thinks of you anymore."  I like the sound of that.  But I'm going to go one bigger.  Since what others think of me really isn't any of my business I'm going to focus on the opinion that matters the most and that is mine.  But I have to get one thing out of my way once and for all. This right here is THE bucket list before I turn 40.

Of course this is the ongoing theme of my blog but it's time to make some real progress.  I refuse to go into my 40's still letting how I feel about my body determine my self-worth.  I needed a drastic intervention to finally get over this hump and onto some real healing.  There are so many other more important things to focus on.

About a year ago I wrote about my insecurities and how they manifested in a major fear of photography.  I badly wanted to be over this issue as it affected me in many ways, not the least of which is having no family pictures to speak of.  My mother-in-law has been lecturing me for at least 10 years that she doesn't have a family picture of us yet.  Yeah, yeah.  I'll get right on that, Hilda.

I've had a lot of feedback from friends who seem to feel the same.  Hating pictures is a universal theme in our own body shaming and the habit goes back probably as far as photography does.  Filmmaker and author, Ransom Riggs, has collected vintage photographs for years that he's found at swap meets and antique stores and recently published a collection of his "Talking Pictures" showing how self-deprecating people can be about their own photos.  I found it fascinating and I can relate to so many of them.

While this issue is not exclusive to women I think it's most prevalent with them.  Peter Gowland, famous photographer and author of Secrets of Photographing Women, once said, "Women are difficult to photograph because no matter how hard you try, most photographs just show how they look. Women want a photograph to show how they THINK they should look and that means having to get into their mind and discover what that image is. This is not a task for the faint-hearted!"  Since he was best known for his nude photography I'm guessing no one knew this better than him.

Last October I wrote specifically about a young body love blogger who appeared online in her underwear to show the world that she wouldn't accept judgments about her body from anyone anymore.  I admired what she did but under no circumstances was this an option for me for many reasons, the greatest being my fear of photography.  I've tried to cure it before by hiring a professional but it just didn't take.  I wasn't ready. It was going to take something more extreme.

A former coworker of mine contacted me after reading my blog and told me that she had the perfect exercise for me.  Boudoir Photography. Seriously?  Did she not even read what I wrote?  Tera was adamant that it would make a difference in how I felt about my body and photography in general.  I wondered just how much of her mind she had lost since the last time I saw her.

I may joke about going pantsless all the time but photos in my drawers may be the most terrifying thing I could possibly think of.  There will be no pants off-dance off when cameras are present.  Rule number uno, Tera.

I've been working really hard this past year to accept myself and to love me as I am right now.  Love first, change second, right?  I would love to have some beautiful photographs like that some day. But maybe if I just lost 20 lbs. first.  Or got my arm definition back.  Or thinned out my cankles.

No.

That's not loving first.  That's not accepting who I am, right now, before even considering steps to change.  And then there's 40.  And the bucket list.

I met with Tera, saw some of her boudoir work (she does not have a website set up for that portion of her profession yet) and made a game plan.  My husband was also turning 40 a whole 10 months before me and I thought maybe this could be part of his gift.  Body confidence and a sexy birthday gift.  Two boobs with one stone.

I enlisted a friend of mine to help me out.  I've got rudimentary make-up skills at best and I needed desperately to go into this with as much confidence as I could muster.  My friend, Bryna, is amazingly talented when it comes to make-up and hair.  I've admired her for both since I first met her almost 5 years ago. She's also a fantastic up and coming vocal talent.  But what I admire most about her is her love for herself.  She's crazy confident and after putting in the time and doing the work necessary for it she just exudes self-worth.  I want some of that.  Hair and make-up. Check. Check.

I spent several weeks trying to find things to wear and fretting over every detail.  I had mini panic attacks leading up to it. I even emailed Tera and asked if she was sure as at that very moment I felt I had NO business taking pictures in my skivvies.  Who did I think I was?  Tera was supremely confident I would be happy.  So much so she said she planned to use some of them in promotional material, with my permission of course.  No pressure there, right?

Two weeks after I turned 39 I stood in front of a camera in my underwear and the fiercest make-up I've ever worn, thanks to Bryna, having only ingested a limited amount of champagne and had my picture taken.  For hours. Of course I had a kick-ass sexified music playlist, too, but those that know me well know this had to be a given.  And I survived.  At my heaviest weight in six years. Dare I say I even had fun.

Tera was fantastic.  She was complimentary.  She was encouraging.  She knew what I was afraid of and how to calm me down.  She couldn't hide her own excitement when she saw something "really hot" through her lens.  I couldn't help but feed off her own passion for her work.  I knew it was a success.

Until two weeks later when she said she was uploading the pictures.  I came <this> close to vomiting. What if I looked horrible?  What if, through no fault of Tera's, every horrible thing I ever saw in pictures of me was visible?  I could still get him a tie, right?  Or some kind of power tool?

I believe my exact response to Tera after I viewed the pictures for the first time was, "Holy fucking shit, I'm hot."

The boudoir shoot exceed every expectation I had.  Every single one.  I was in absolute shock. Out of 99 pictures that she showed me there were maybe 3 that I didn't really care for.  Do you know what a big deal that is?  It's huge.  There are a couple that push my comfort zone but I promise you this - I did not look at one picture with any kind of negative dialogue running through my head.  Not one.  I didn't pick them apart.  I didn't tell myself the horrible things I've spent a lifetime saying about my body. What I saw was art.  And beauty.  And me. 

Tera said her retouching was only blemish removal and skin texturing.  There was only one picture  where she "liquified" a tiny bit of the back of my arm because my corset (I've always wanted a corset!!) had pushed it out funny.  Otherwise it was all me.  I can still see the imperfections.  They are still there.  But they don't get in the way of what I really see.

I may not be the size or weight I want to be but I am beautiful right now.

I may not have worked through all my body confidence or self-worth issues

but I am beautiful right now.

I can work out and get stronger and leaner if I want to.  But right now?

I am beautiful.

And since I have talked about my dislike for my legs and my cankles in the past I should mention that one of the most stressful moments during the photo shoot was when Tera decided to take a picture of them in all their glory.

And I am still beautiful. (And those are some bad-ass shoes I bought, too!)

I'm not changing the world.  My bare ass won't bring world peace. And you may not feel the same way about how I look and that's totally ok because I'm going to be 40 and it doesn't matter. It may sound silly to say but this was life changing for me.  Being able to say, "I'm ok right now, no matter where I go from here" is so freeing.  My internal dialogue over the last month has changed dramatically.  Tera was right.  It did make a difference.  I'm filled with gratitude for what she has done for me.

There are, of course, a lot more pictures and some much more revealing but I'm not going to put those here.  I do have to consider my children in this regard and their future internet use.  And frankly, it's not YOUR birthday.  But if you wanted more information on working with Tera Photography or another boudoir photographer in your area if you aren't local to Minnesota, I would be open to sharing what I know.  I couldn't be happier with my own results and I would encourage anyone to embrace who they are and where they are at with their body right in this moment.

In fact, this Saturday I have another photo shoot with Tera.  I'm finally having family pictures done.  My mother-in-law will be so pleased.  Life has been passing us by so quickly.  It's time to document where we are right now before my kids are grown.

I took Mathew to a spa for his birthday weekend.  Maybe I had one too many dunks in the cool plunge pool but with everyone pretty much living in their swim suits I saw so many different kinds of bodies and they were all lovely.  All of them.  And when we all wore our matching fluffy white spa robes we all looked the same, too.  It's crazy but that fact was so beautiful to me.

I gave my husband the photographs presented in a black leather keepsake box and I watched his face while he looked through them.  He commented over and over how fantastic they were and pointed out some favorites but I couldn't help but notice the lack of absolute shock that I felt when I saw the pictures for the first time.  Why wasn't he completely dumbfounded as I had been?

Later when I asked him about his reaction he looked at me with total confusion.  Then he said, "I am very surprised that you had the photo shoot.  It's not like you at all to do something like this.  But I was not surprised at all by how they turned out."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because I've always known you were this beautiful."

Hey, 40?  Bring it.

Fake It Till You Make It

I think I'm a pretty confident person. I've always known I was smart. School came so easy to me.  I know I have an ability to make people laugh.  I've been pretty successful at most things I've attempted. I know I have a huge heart and I'm a fierce friend if I let you in. I can teach a class with the utmost confidence that I can break you. Overall, I like who I am.

Yeah, I'm pretty confident most of the time. But if someone pulls out a camera I will tuck and roll faster than if someone had just laid down cover fire. I have mad photo evasion skills.

I don't know when my cameraphobia started.  Maybe when someone took a picture of me in my little toddler bikini around the age of 4 or 5 and nobody happened to notice that the bikini top was slid way over and a whole nipple was showing. I spent the rest of the day with my hand on my heart like an awkward pledge of allegiance.  Or maybe it was that mullet I received right before 2nd grade pictures?  I have no idea.  I just know I hate cameras.  Unfortunately that means there are very few pictures of me around.  I was always behind the camera, taking pics of the kids.

In an attempt at "therapy" I hired a photographer friend to do a shoot with me. She does beautiful work and I would recommend her to anyone.  Aside from her talent she loves what she does and I believe that makes all the difference. If you are looking for a photographer here in Minnesota, you must contact Erin Zemanovic Photography.  This picture is my favorite. I look so deep in thought.  More than likely I'm thinking, "I wonder if that place over there serves wings?"

But armed even with a bunch of Facebook worthy photographs I still hate the camera.  And I honestly don't think the pics truly look like me.  They are much too pretty and I don't do pretty.  I love them, but I don't see me.  And that's not Erin's fault. You know what I see most of the time when I look at pictures of myself or I look in the mirror?  This:

  

That was me for so long that I have a hard time getting my mind around anything else.  I don't think of myself as pretty. You know how people always describe an attractive overweight person by saying, "She's got such a pretty face"?  I always got, "She's got a great personality."  God, that's like the curse of death when someone is avoiding the topic of your appearance.

Sure I can seem confident when I go out to the right bar.  But heels, a cocktail, soft lighting, a room full of beer goggles and Marvin Gaye will make everyone feel like a sexy beast.  True story.

But overall I'm not confident in the way I look.  I never have been.  And a secret they don't tell you about losing a considerable amount of weight - sometimes it makes you hyper critical.  I avoided mirrors and cameras so much that it became a non issue.  As I was losing I started paying super close attention, searching for any sign of a change in my body.  Seeing every flaw close up after avoiding them forever.  Add to that all the stretch marks and loose skin from damaging your body for so long and it's a recipe for disaster.  Nothing makes you feel more attractive than getting to your goal weight and realizing you look like a menorah on day 8 and there is no amount of exercise or perfect nutrition that will remedy that.

This morning on the news I saw a segment about a college girl, Stella, who bravely had a photograph of her in her underwear posted online with a big middle finger to all those that hurt her or made her feel bad about her body.  I think she is amazing and I wish I had her courage to just say, "Fuck it. This is me and I'm beautiful."  It was suggested to me that I could conjure up the same confidence if I "fake it till I make it".  I could just post some pics of myself in the same manner and be an inspiration to all my friends.

Um, hell no.  Hell-to-the-No.  No one wants to see that.  And let's not even discuss the fact that I have young boys who would be traumatized someday by the whole idea. I just can't.  I wish I could.  But no. Posting my before pics is about as brave as I'll ever get and you don't even want to know the anxiety I have about it right now.  And don't assume this post is about fishing for compliments because anyone that knows me knows that I am the absolute worst compliment acceptor in the entire world.  I suck at it.

I am actively working on changing my thinking about myself and my body.  I want to think of myself as beautiful and I want to encourage everyone else to do the same. But I can't post that kind of picture and I have no one to give the big middle finger to about making me feel bad about myself except for me.  So for now I will use my words to work on this rather than photography and leave the other method to Stella.

I won't promise I'll always have pants on when I write, though.

“Just give me a thousand words and you may make your own pictures.”- Erica Goros