Thoughts from the hot seat!

Cowering in the Shower


Not so long ago, I received a call from two friends of mine. They are a married couple and they wanted to employ my artistic talents for a special project. They had taken some tasteful nude pictures of themselves together and wanted someone they trust to do a pen and ink rendering of the pictures in a large collage on canvas.

My first instinct was to say no. I wanted to say no.

So let me stop here and clarify: I'm not a prude. I absolutely love tastefully done celebrations of the human body. Whether that be photography, paintings, sculpture...whatever. But this loud voice within, the one screaming "NO!" was doing so for a completely different reason.

Despite the voice, I agreed to do it. They came to my home one evening with the pictures in tow and we sorted through them together to decide which ones to include in the artwork. I survived. I tucked the pictures away in a file for future reference...because I wouldn't be able to start working on the project until my kids were back in school. Out of sight, out of mind. For now.

Well, all was well until I received a second call from my friends. The wife is pregnant with their second child and they really want some nude photos of her while pregnant...perhaps some with the two of them together as well. Again, tastefully done - just a beautiful celebration of this special phase of life. Could I take the pictures for them and then make a second ink rendering from those? They asked.

Every "NO" alarm in my body was ringing at 900 decibels. But that uncooperative mouth of mine said, "yeah, sure...I can do it for you."

Today is the day. The picture taking day. So I slowly drag around this morning wishing for some virulent illness to overtake me at any moment...begging for a migraine...praying for anything that could stop the gears that are in motion. But no, no such luck.

As I navigated my morning...I found myself feeling dark, depressed, hollow and achy inside. Finally, I face that I must get ready, and I step into the shower, my heart sinking ever lower on the horizon. I don't have any explanation why this project is such an obstacle to me as I step into the shower, allowing hot water to sluice it's way across my shoulders.

I feel the tears stinging my eyes, welling up, spilling over. I turn my face to the wall and tuck my hands in over my chest. I feel defensive, open to criticism, vulnerable. The spray from the shower mingles with my tears as I hear voices in my head. My stepmother making fun of my flat butt, my father calling me stupid, kids in school making fun of my Montgomery Ward catalog clothes that I was forced to wear. Then my own voice chimes in..."stick to what you're good at Dana" it chants. "Make glass beads. Run away from everything else."

I realize that sometimes I bury myself in my glass to hide from my own perceived inadequacies in other areas. I'm at a loss to deal with my moody eldest son. He's so sensitive, but also so hard headed and sometimes extremely disrespectful. My mental train quickly switches tracks. I begin thinking about how I want to believe I am beautiful just the way I am, somewhat overweight, getting older and saggier...but what my head preaches my heart just won't embrace.

The voice is now chanting, "yeah, you aren't so beautiful really, are you?" Taunting me. And I wonder how I ever got so vain in the first place that outward beauty matters that much. What happened to me so long ago that made it nearly impossible for me to feel good about myself? I sag deeper against the wall, my pain coming out in barely concealed squeaks as my tears flow harder. I recite the words stamped in the metal face of a bracelet I want to buy on Etsy, "STRONG IN THE BROKEN PLACES." But I don't feel strong at all.

All these things run through my head as I stand there, face buried in the tile. I suddenly understand exactly why I don't want to do this project. It has nothing to do with being a prude, nothing to do with jealousy or envy, it has everything to do with the gaping wound inside of me. The part of me that feels like a failure, the part of me that feels hopelessly un-beautiful. The part of me that I fight against so hard, but never seem to outwit.

The woman I will be photographing is beautiful. She has that body...the one people don't believe truly exists because it requires airbrushing and computer alterations. No. She has that body without airbrushes and without computer software. AND she's pregnant. And as I absorb all these facts in my bathroom sanctuary...I realize that this is the core of the problem. I will have to go face her...the woman who represents the two things I am struggling with right now as I just pass my 40 year birthday. By facing her, I will face the fact that my body has changed to something less than beautiful and desirable by "standards". That I'm growing older, saggier, and chubbier and that I simply don't love myself "as I am", which is what I want to do ideally, but can't seem to acheive. By facing her, I will also face the most painful of my issues...the fact that time is running out and I may never be a mother again.

I long to be pregnant. To have one more shot at motherhood before my time is done, and to complete the broken circle that I feel almost like it is a tangible, living thing since we lost our baby daughter.

As I realize these things, and contemplate life's workings...I again feel that every damn thing in life happens for some annoying reason. Do I believe for a minute I was given this challenge randomly? NO WAY. I am meant to face it, and I don't want to. Not at all. I stand in the shower, my tears slowing...and I hear that voice in my head again, "Are you just going to cower in the shower all day?"

I sigh. "no. I'm not".