A woman a greatly admire posted a request for people to post a sexy picture of themselves. She aptly labeled her thread a "no self deprecation zone." Her posts tend to trend highly in my Facebook news feed (maybe there's some unapologetic feminist cyber mind meld), so throughout the day I was treated to numerous shots of men and women flaunting their assets. What I love was the "no shame, no fear, no apologies, just love" (yes, I bought the shirt) attitude that this brought to the day.
But what it also got me thinking about was what sexy is. I do not have any boudoir-esque photos of myself. Nor have I ever considered myself "traditionally sexy." Now, before you get ahead of me, I realize that these were exactly the self deprecating comments explicitly banned in this post. I have been told that self-deprication is unattractive, yet have always laughed it off in myself. However, my reluctance to participate in a celebration of sexiness and self love because I didn't believe I fit the mold of sexiness they expected made me realize that my seemingly harmless jokes about myself did not do anyone (including myself and those who love me) any justice.
So, without further ado, the two photos of myself that I consider the most sexy:
Yep... a picture of me and my dog, and one at the top of a grueling mountain bike climb. No lingerie, no skin, no sultry stares, just life. This past year, sexiness has taking on a new meaning. Sexiness is vibrance. Sexiness is independence. Sexiness is the strength to choose to life, love, and happiness when all signs point to despair and depreciation.
Why these pictures represent sexiness is not for how I look, but for how I feel, and the choices I made on the days they were taken. In the past 9 months I have undergone both a major shoulder surgery and a double mastectomy without reconstruction. Either one of these on their own provide enough emotional and physical turmoil to make one begin to question their identity. As someone who has always considered her physicality as an important part of her identity, the prospect of being unable to participate in those things I love the most - bikes, adventures with my dog, my gym family - initially left me a bit bewildered and discontent.
Seeing myself covered in bandages and scars, unable to perform even basic physical tasks, I hardly felt like a competent or capable person, let along a sexy empowered woman. As one surgery bled into another, and I witnessed my once strong body atrophy, I began to believe that I would be resigned to be the sympathy case for those looking to do penance to the gods of sick and weary. Outwardly I talked a strong "fake it till you make it," game of being fine and strong and taking everything in stride.
What the two photos here represent are moments where I actually internalized and my strong talk, and made promises to myself that have redefined sexy. The first, with my trusty sidekick corgi, was the first day after my mastectomy that I was able to run. It wasn't long. It was snowing. But I moved - really moved - as myself. As Agnus and I reached the top of the small mountain overlooking Golden, CO, for the first time I truly believed that I had made the right decisions with my health care. I moved through the snow with a new sense of life and independence. Though I longed to be in the desert that day riding bikes, it was the first moment that I truly chose life over conventions of physical sexiness.
The second, taken in Crested Butte, CO, in the middle of a wild-flower filled adventure of new-to-me trails with the most amazing of partners, was the day I accepted the new me. Prior to this day, the bike had always been a tool for me, a stead I had to push to go fast and win on. However this day, surrounded by nature, and accompanied by the one who had been by my side through the scare and the weakness, the bike became my freedom and joy. It took me to new and beautiful places. It was this day that I vowed to no longer doubt or deprecate my abilities, and to love myself for where I was.
I wish I could say that these two days cured me of any desire to self-deprecate. There are plenty of times that are still hard, especially when I struggle with things that were once easy. These two days also barely scratch the surface of the verity of emotions that have flooded my time in physical therapy for my new shoulder or in my decision to not reconstruct post-mastectomy. However, for now I will celebrate the fact that I can embrace the new sexy. The sexy that is the choice to live, love, and grow both with myself and someone with whom I'm blessed to have as a partner in this. My body may no longer be conventionally sexy, but is very much alive, and worth of no shame, no fear, no apologies ... just love.
But what it also got me thinking about was what sexy is. I do not have any boudoir-esque photos of myself. Nor have I ever considered myself "traditionally sexy." Now, before you get ahead of me, I realize that these were exactly the self deprecating comments explicitly banned in this post. I have been told that self-deprication is unattractive, yet have always laughed it off in myself. However, my reluctance to participate in a celebration of sexiness and self love because I didn't believe I fit the mold of sexiness they expected made me realize that my seemingly harmless jokes about myself did not do anyone (including myself and those who love me) any justice.
So, without further ado, the two photos of myself that I consider the most sexy:
Why these pictures represent sexiness is not for how I look, but for how I feel, and the choices I made on the days they were taken. In the past 9 months I have undergone both a major shoulder surgery and a double mastectomy without reconstruction. Either one of these on their own provide enough emotional and physical turmoil to make one begin to question their identity. As someone who has always considered her physicality as an important part of her identity, the prospect of being unable to participate in those things I love the most - bikes, adventures with my dog, my gym family - initially left me a bit bewildered and discontent.
Seeing myself covered in bandages and scars, unable to perform even basic physical tasks, I hardly felt like a competent or capable person, let along a sexy empowered woman. As one surgery bled into another, and I witnessed my once strong body atrophy, I began to believe that I would be resigned to be the sympathy case for those looking to do penance to the gods of sick and weary. Outwardly I talked a strong "fake it till you make it," game of being fine and strong and taking everything in stride.
What the two photos here represent are moments where I actually internalized and my strong talk, and made promises to myself that have redefined sexy. The first, with my trusty sidekick corgi, was the first day after my mastectomy that I was able to run. It wasn't long. It was snowing. But I moved - really moved - as myself. As Agnus and I reached the top of the small mountain overlooking Golden, CO, for the first time I truly believed that I had made the right decisions with my health care. I moved through the snow with a new sense of life and independence. Though I longed to be in the desert that day riding bikes, it was the first moment that I truly chose life over conventions of physical sexiness.
The second, taken in Crested Butte, CO, in the middle of a wild-flower filled adventure of new-to-me trails with the most amazing of partners, was the day I accepted the new me. Prior to this day, the bike had always been a tool for me, a stead I had to push to go fast and win on. However this day, surrounded by nature, and accompanied by the one who had been by my side through the scare and the weakness, the bike became my freedom and joy. It took me to new and beautiful places. It was this day that I vowed to no longer doubt or deprecate my abilities, and to love myself for where I was.
I wish I could say that these two days cured me of any desire to self-deprecate. There are plenty of times that are still hard, especially when I struggle with things that were once easy. These two days also barely scratch the surface of the verity of emotions that have flooded my time in physical therapy for my new shoulder or in my decision to not reconstruct post-mastectomy. However, for now I will celebrate the fact that I can embrace the new sexy. The sexy that is the choice to live, love, and grow both with myself and someone with whom I'm blessed to have as a partner in this. My body may no longer be conventionally sexy, but is very much alive, and worth of no shame, no fear, no apologies ... just love.
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