A Body That Has Lived

On becoming while staying in my body.

“For the first time, I feel good in my body.” I have spoken and written this statement many times since coming out publicly as a lesbian. I feel comfortable in my body, experiencing pleasure like never before, and yet I still struggle with seeing full-body images of myself. I love working in my yard and doing house projects. I am on the go most of the time—probably too much, okay, too much. But when I see pictures of myself outside of a posed headshot, all of the shame narratives embedded in my brain do a quick pass through my thoughts.

I was raised to believe that women and wives have to remain fit and thin for the men in their lives. I have been dieting since I was 12; my weight has been a not-regular but recurring conversation with my mom since I was 12. Only at my very skinniest, in my late 20s, was that conversation paused. After my first child was born, I was reminded that I needed to get my body back in shape for my then-husband. The lack of intimacy in my marriage non-verbally reinforced this narrative.

We have taken family pictures each fall since my oldest was in the womb. My sweet firstborn turned 14 this year. I love our pictures, and having them framed around our home always made me feel as though we must be doing something right. After my ex-husband and I separated, family pictures paused for a few years for a multitude of reasons.

This year, I chose to do family pictures again—just the kids and me. It was hard because the person who took the pictures was the same one who did our last set; she is amazing. The location brought memories, too. The kids remembered doing family pictures there before, back when their dad and I were together. But we did it, and our photographer, as always, captured some amazing images.

For the first time, when I saw the pictures, I saw my age. Yes, I am a little bit heavier than in the last set of pictures, but what I noticed most were the years on and in my face. We have received many kind compliments about the images, and still, what I saw was different. In years past, I felt that I looked like an adult—not too young and not aging, either. I have struggled with my weight all of my life; it is a constant yin-yang. But this time, I felt like everything the last three years have entailed—the heartache, the tears, the disappointment, the discouragement, the hope, the pushing through, the weariness, the despair, the climb to find myself and truly feel good in my body—was all there.

And the thing is, I went into the photoshoot truly feeling good about my clothes, my hair, and how I looked.

It is hard not to see the aging process as the beginning of a journey that can feel, at times, like it is lifetimes away and yet suddenly upon you. I mean, yes, I know that from birth we are all walking a path forward to death. Whether that is 20, 40, or 80 years away, we take a step in that direction each day. Death is something I used to be afraid of, and heaven was the balm to my fear. I don’t believe in that type of heaven anymore, so now there is a great unknown in how my soul—or spirit—rejoins the universe. Most days, I am okay with that.

But when I saw my age in our recent family pictures, fear came crawling in. It settled quietly, with hopes of staying for the long haul. I refuse to let that be the case. Instead, this feels like another journey to process and move through.

It’s a strange paradox. I love how I feel emotionally and mentally in my being at this stage of my life. I am turning 49 next month, and I am truly excited to turn 50. I have had a knowing since my late 20s that 50 would be a time of arrival. I don’t know exactly what that means, but I have felt a growing anticipation as it has drawn closer.

My anticipation is for the possibilities, not assumptions about what they will be. At times, I have tried to name what I want those possibilities to be. But I’ve learned that when I do, I start to worry and become anxious that they won’t happen. So what if I don’t name specifics? What if I keep moving through the world with intention and purpose, rooted in who I have always been, and simply revel in the possibilities of where my life might go next?

My desire is for my aging to be a reminder of the fortitude it took to lay the foundation for freedom—the freedom of who I am continually journeying to become. There is no arrival. The journey is enough

My girlfirend Kate (L) and me (R).

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Avoided No More: On Writing Through Struggle, Shame, and Self-Doubt
Alongside my Substack writing, I’m a contributing author in Avoided No More, a collection of essays about telling the truth and living inside it. My piece, Permission to Be, reflects on embodiment, identity, and becoming.

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