I'VE BEEN AFRAID TO BE BEAUTIFUL

Photograped by Michelle Rodriguez.

On surviving sexual abuse, being seen, and learning that my beauty belongs to me.

There is something I have been trying to understand about myself.

Why, for so long, have I been afraid of being beautiful?

Not beautiful in the abstract.

I mean really seeing myself as beautiful.

Putting on the outfit I actually want to wear.

Doing my makeup because I want to feel good.

Wearing the jewellery.

Taking the photograph.

Looking at myself in the mirror and not immediately looking away.

Allowing myself to be feminine. Allowing myself to be sensual. Allowing myself to take up space.

There have been moments in my life where being seen has felt complicated.

And I think some of that comes from being a survivor of sexual abuse.

I'm talking about this because I want sympathy but becaus eI know I'm not alone in this.

WHEN BEING SEEN DOESN'T FEEL SAFE

For a long time, being noticed didn't always feel like a compliment.

Sometimes it still feels like danger.

But what I've come to notice in my years of what people would call my frump era I've still attracted unwanted attention.

So why don't I feel safe?

Why has appearance not mattered for so long?

I was going through old pictures of myself before I stopped caring and I realized it lined up with what happened to me. Ove the years that girl has made appearance when required but she hasn't felt apart of me in a long time and I think its because I blamed her for being beautiful.

I DIDN'T WANT TO BE TOO BEAUTIFUL

I just wanted to be left alone.

what does being beautiful mean when you've experienced someone believing they had a right to your body?

What does femininity mean when your boundaries have been crossed?

What does it mean to enjoy being looked at when, at one point in your life, being looked at didn't feel safe?

I don't know.

I'm still figuring them out.

I know my beauty isn't to blame for the horrific actions of others.

The shame was never mine.

Survivors can carry shame for years, sometimes turning what happened into a story about themselves rather than about the person who caused the harm.

I'm trying to put that shame down.

Slowly.

BEAUTY IS NOT AN INVITATION

This has been an important one for me.

Because sometimes women are taught — directly or indirectly — that beauty comes with responsibility.

Don't dress like that.

Don't show too much.

Don't be too sexual.

Don't attract the wrong attention.

Don't make people think you're asking for something.

And I have internalized those messages for way too long.

But I am learning that my beauty is not an invitation.

A dress is not an invitation.

Lipstick is not an invitation.

A photograph is not an invitation.

Being confident is not an invitation.

Being feminine is not an invitation.

Being desirable does not mean being available.

And being beautiful does not mean anyone gets access to me.

My body is mine.

That sentence sounds simple.

But sometimes simple things take years to believe.

LEARNING TO LOOK AT MYSELF DIFFERENTLY

This Blog for me is an exploration, an opportunity to fall back in love with myself. My beauty internally and externally.

As a survivor and not as a victim.

As grown woman who is learning to embrace who she is, and has the potential to be.

As a protector and lover of self.

I DON'T WANT TO HIDE ANYMORE

I think this is part of my own rebirth.

Not becoming somebody else.

Coming back to myself.

I'm beginning to understand that reclaiming beauty doesn't mean pretending nothing happened.

It doesn't mean I have healed every part of myself.

It means I am slowly refusing to let something that was done to me dictate who I am and how I present myself.

I want to get dressed because I love the outfit.

I want to wear the jewellery because it makes me feel beautiful.

I want to take the photograph because I like how I look.

I want to feel at home in myself.

Maybe that's what beauty is becoming for me.

Not being admired.

Not being desired.

Not being validated.

Just being at home.

MY BEAUTY BELONGS TO ME

I don't know if I'll ever completely untangle beauty from everything I've experienced.

Maybe healing isn't about erasing the complicated parts.

Maybe it's about creating something new alongside them.

A new relationship with my body.

A new relationship with femininity.

A new relationship with being seen.

Not because somebody else says so.

Not because I've finally become acceptable.

But because I get to decide how I see myself.

I survived.

I don't want the survival of sexual abuse to be the only story I tell.

I want to tell the story of the woman who came afterwards.

The woman who started looking in the mirror again.

The woman who started dressing for herself.

The woman who started taking up space.

The woman who stopped apologising for being beautiful.

My beauty belongs to me.

And I'm learning, slowly, to believe it.