Sean

Sean – USA

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As I was being photographed I felt at ease.  In considering you reading this and looking at my photo, I still feel at ease.  Is that strange to you?  Am I only saying that because I love my body?  What does it mean to love my body?  Oh, ok, I’m still insecure.  I don’t want to be judged, even by strangers.

This Project is still working its way through me.  It’s challenging what I call body awareness, and helping me question what I think I am doing in my professional practice.

As I was growing up, around say 12, when I began to shift hormonally and I began to become aware of my body, just simply aware that it was different than other people’s, I immediately began to judge myself. To me the learning has been that I have a unique body and that it houses my unique psyche (Soul).

My body has been a source of pleasure, pain, a sense of ability and also a sense of limitation.  My body has been with me my whole life, in that time it has changed, grown, aged, strengthened, weakened, toxified and detoxified, and gotten strong again.  I have learned to dance, to play musical instruments, to write, to build, to make love, to walk, to run, to sing, and to experience the effects of my biochemistry through so many chemical experiments.

I cannot separate my journey of body-awareness from my journey of self-awareness.  And this keeps me grounded, in my healing practice, in physical work rather than energetic. Through focusing on the physical experience I have helped guide people deeper into their own journeys of the psyche.  What is so fascinating about being in a body to begin with is that we cannot separate physical, mental, emotional, spiritual and therefore all our relationships from each other.  They all work together to create a sense of ourselves in the world that is ever changing and ever evolving in a nonlinear and organic way.

When I first went to Harrimon Lake in VT at 22, I saw real naked people of all ages in one place for the first time in this life.  Since then I’ve been skinny-dipping on a few rivers, and I have worked on a few hundred bodies.  So, I have a greater sense than many people about what people really look like as a species.  But initially I was awestruck that I had no reason to feel insecure about my body.  That mostly people just look like people, weird and beautiful simultaneously.  That there was no one perfect body type, and that I looked pretty good compared to a lot of the older people I saw left me feeling so relieved that it felt like an awakening.  Instead it was simply putting down the weight of worrying that I might ‘look weird’ in some way, or that I might be undeserving in some way due to how I look.  This wasn’t an awakening, it was a healing of something that hadn’t been clear to me, and an insecurity that I was carrying, prior to hanging out on that shore.  I loved it.

Why is it that we are so shut down from our bodies? When did this start? Who upholds this lack of education? How is this directly tied to the personal healing journey?

I have been on a personal journey to live in my beauty.  To allow my beauty to be seen, and to be recognized as healthy in my beauty and because of my beauty.  I love my body, I love my voice, I love my mind, I love the pleasure my body brings me, and the humility in healing it.  The humility of coming into relationship with the earth has been fascinating, and that it goes hand in hand with the healing of dancing and making love is fascinating.

Mind and Earth. This is where we come from and where we shall return.  While we are individualized we are no less beautiful.  Our personal healing journey is that of all humanity.  I respect that my ongoing, ever evolving, relationship to my body is part of this journey

I love the opportunity be photographed naked.  I love that there is an outlet here to be seen as much more than sexual creatures when we are naked.  We are so much more dynamic.  And sexuality is so much more dynamic than our culture teaches us.  We just are our bodies for the time we are here.  We are so much more also, and until we get over our body issues and judgments we may never see the grander beauty that we encompass.

Yves

Yves – USA

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My physical issues are real.

All I have to do is point them out; they cannot be denied. I do not believe other people do not see them. What I believe is that where I see imperfections, defects, ugliness and deformities others can see uniqueness, exotic looks, charm or maybe even beauty.

That last one is still hard for me to see but I also know it is how I need to see myself in order to truly be myself

Being attracted to a creative and artistic life, I discovered music and songwriting at an early age and set to make a life for myself in the entertainment industry. Unfortunately, that choice only added to my fear of rejection when I realized the importance of an entertainer’s image.

The constant reminders through television, magazines and all forms of media of what is considered beautiful and what is not in our society often managed to shatter my confidence and can sometimes still do so.

I know many people go through similar struggles and their battle often continues for the best part of their lives. It is a search for acceptance, inner balance, growth and ultimately freedom to be oneself, completely and without reservation. To feel we are worth being.

To take part in the Embody Project was a revealing experience and a great way for me to get one step closer to finding that inner-peace about my physical appearance. Some may find it inappropriate or even taboo to be photographed naked, maybe because our society tells them it is, or maybe because their religion says so or their parents or loved ones own beliefs have a great influence on theirs.

For me, I believe staying in hiding and unhappy about my physical body is not the way to be. Finding the true me must include accepting myself for who I am and how I look. It is being willing to go out in the world without feeling inadequate, to show myself for who I am and be confident about it, to get up in the morning feeling good about myself. It is to not let society, people or even my own fears force me to hide behind closed doors.

In my early adult life, I sported a goatee for many years before I found the courage to shave it. Now I let it grow when I feel like it.  The smallest steps are as important as the big ones. I have many more steps to climb but every single one is worth the effort.

I am 47 and still on that journey of self-discovery and I think it’s a wonderful place to be.

Reve

Reve – USA

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I stand on the muddy bank
stark still, excited, apprehensive
gazing at the dark
fall-chilled, cold river.
Colorful leaves sail along the surface,
tumble along the bottom.

 

This is my desire
my enchantment.
This water. This fluid.
I am lured, enticed.
I long to submerge myself,
to dive below the surface,
to get under the water,
silent, subtle, sensuous.

 

I step in
the chill wrapping its grip
around my feet, ankles, calves.

 

As I slide my body
under the surface and swim upstream,
I feel my heart pumping hard,
sending warm blood,
my inner river,
outward to my extremities.

 
At the top of the shallow pool,
I turn and release effort,
surrendering to the current,
merging with the flow,
slipping downstream.
 
 
The familiar touch
of water on skin,
suspends me, embraces me.
As we flow together,
the river and I,
everything condenses
into this moment of extreme presence,
this moving feast of sensuality.
 

I turn at the end of the rocky pool
and swim upstream
to pass again
before the camera’s lens.

 

I am a naked man,
exposed, vulnerable.
My head aches from the cold,
my body numb, yet vibrant,
my mind crystal clear.

 
For a third time
I swim upstream
to let myself go,
for a final drift down
skimming the rocky river bed.
 
And then,
once again
I stand on the muddy bank.
This time
dripping and shivering,
smiling and laughing,
intoxicated
with my living, breathing
fluid body.
Erica

Erica – USA

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We were getting ready to go out. My dad was in the bathroom down the hall and my mom was in the bedroom fresh from a shower. I was eight years old and sat on the bed telling her about my day as she began to dress herself. My parent’s shared laundry basket was in the corner of the room and my mom grabbed a pair of jeans hanging over the edge. Balancing, she stepped her left leg through and then her right. As she pulled the jeans up a struggle began just over her knees. She jumped up and down, twisting the top back and forth, almost falling over, but they wouldn’t budge past her thighs. The whole scene was sending me into a fit of giggles. That’s when we both realized she had grabbed my dad’s jeans by accident.

That sent me into full blown laughter. My dad yelled down the hall, “What’s so funny in there?” I could tell he was smiling. We both loved a good laugh. As I attempted to tell him, my mother begged me in a hushed voice “Please don’t Erica, please.” I didn’t understand. Why was she always so serious? “Dad, you gotta see this! Mom tried to put your jeans on!” My dad flew out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. “How’d that work out for you?” he said to my mom laughing. I turned to look at my mom who was now sitting on the bed taking the jeans off from around her ankles, her head hanging down, avoiding eye contact with either of us. I immediately stopped laughing. As he continued to tease her I realized that the humor we saw in this situation was coming from very different places.

Although they rarely talk about it, my parents both had difficult upbringings. Neither of them learned how to deal with emotion very well and healthy communication was almost nonexistent in our household as a result. They both played out patterns witnessed in their childhoods. My dad obsessed over trying to make things look picture perfect. My mother battled with depression and became more detached and unpredictable the harder he pushed for that perfection. One of the most obvious ways this dynamic played out was through my mother’s physical appearance, namely her weight.

It was hard to ignore my dad’s mockery of anyone that looked unattractive in his eyes. His fear of being judged by others made him more judgmental of everyone else, especially my mom. She already struggled with body image and the pressure to look like she was supposed to became overwhelming. I remember the Weight Watcher’s meetings in the basement of the Lutheran church, the freezer stocked with low-cal dinners, and endless weigh-ins on the scale at home. The upswings when she would lose a few pounds followed by the deep sadness when the weight came back. She battled with food. She battled with what she saw in the mirror. She battled with loving who she was. Without knowing it, I was also was learning to battle these things. My father saw all of this as weakness and a lack of will power – just get over it and fix it. I learned to see it this way too.

For a long time, I struggled with how I looked. I battled with loving who I was. I analyzed every part of my physical appearance. I was terrified of ever gaining weight because it would mean I was weak. It was exhausting to be so involved with how I looked. It demanded constant attention and weaved its way into every part of my life. It also distracted me from other issues that were harder to see and harder to control. A few years ago I recognized this and I realized that I was just perpetuating the story I had witnessed growing up. I needed to break the cycle.

It took time. It took looking deep inside and seeing that real beauty existed within. I had to get naked from the inside out before I was able to really see myself. I no longer look in the mirror and agonize over my jiggly butt or rogue body hairs. I no longer curse my genes for giving me fine hair or veiny legs. I am imperfect and I am beautiful.

These days I think more and more about the children I will have. I think about what I want to teach them. Not the things I will say to them, but the things they will learn by watching me. I realize that I cannot hide how I feel about myself or my body. If I feel shame I will teach shame. If I feel love I will teach love. The choice is mine.

Dana

Dana – USA

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I was 13 when “heroin chic” mainlined into popular culture.  This aesthetic exalted women for visible bones and total passivity.  My developing prefrontal cortex internalized that success as a female equaled emaciation and feigned cynicism, an anesthetized abstention from appetite.

But my body was young, curvaceous, and hungry.  I had ferocious adolescent emotions that ripped through me like hurricanes.  I couldn’t fabricate apathy, nor tolerate starvation.  I consumed my desires as dizzying relationships and late nights in the dorm with cheap pizza and Boone’s Farm.  But after I’d gorged on these sugary, intoxicating experiences, the tyrant of inadequacy hissed at me to reject them through self-loathing and self-induced vomiting.  I looked and felt nothing like Kate Moss.  I thought I had failed as a woman.

In my early 20s, heroin chic rehabbed and unrolled itself as the “yoga body”.  This was an upgraded version of Woman that admitted she needed to eat, but maintained ethereality through obsessive adherence to hot vinyasa flow.  While I floundered as emotionless anorectic, I dominated at vegan yoga girl.  I enthusiastically juiced and ate organic.  I didn’t just DO yoga, I taught it , vacationed with it, and sponged up my teachers’ cheerfully babbled, half-digested philosophy.

This satisfied for years.  I could make (and eat!) quinoa, stand on my head, and refer blithely to my “authentic self”.  But the more I listened to mid-20s girls from the midwest in $200 yoga outfits talk about how little they’d eaten, how much they’d practiced, and how few opinions they held, I realized that the apathetic drug addict of my adolescence hadn’t recovered after all.   She’d simply morphed into the docile yoga gazelle.

I was irate that nothing had actually changed.  What further provoked me was how thoroughly suckered I’d been by the hoax.  Just as no amount of willpower made starving a sustainable practice, no amount of platitudinous “shining my heart” could subdue the feral emotions and wild appetites that paced savagely just below my ujjayi breath.

It was CrossFit that let me embody that stalking lioness.

I was 31 when I found CrossFit, where women challenge the function of their bodies and size is meaningless.  Here, in a cinder block garage, women with thighs that would have been transparently judged in the mirrors of the yoga studio hefted hundreds of pounds and roared with effort.  They were solid, sinewy, and gorgeous.  The unapologetic three-dimensional vigor of their physiques was a revelation.

One workout later, I was hooked.  In three months, I was transformed.  CrossFit demanded a ravenous, robust embodiment.  There was no mental check-out while I squatted and jerked, no skipping meals if I wanted to perform.  Passivity was not acceptable.  I had to be fully present, deliberately focused, and I had to WANT it.  I cannonballed into myself.

So when I peeled off my leggings and shimmied out of my sports bra the night of my shoot, I wondered if the old demons of self-doubt would congregate, but they never did.  In the first moment of nakedness I felt astonishingly comfortable, and I bounced over to the Olympic bar to show off what my body was capable of doing.

With no place to hide, I had no secrets.  There was no posturing or veiling of perceived flaws, no false narrative of perfection.  There was nothing I could do but be exactly what I am.  So, I picked up the bar.  I snatched it overhead.  I dropped into a full overhead squat and pushed out my knees like my coaches taught me to do.  I drove my heels into the ground and stood, skimmed the bar down the front of my body until it kissed the floor.  I snatched it up again.

I used to think that my value was determined by how I looked. Now I know it is a function of what I do.  CrossFit is my training ground for life.  In that gym I prove to myself, with every lift, that I am fully authorized to establish my own self worth.  My feminine flexibility now sits where it belongs in a fluid duality opposite strength.  When I hurl that weight overhead, I am literally raising the bar of what it means to be a fully functional, emphatically embodied woman.

Ann Marie

Ann Marie – USA

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My New Eros

Skin, stone, leaf, river, rain.

I came longing for deciduous leaves.
I pictured myself naked
among lush foliations of green.
I came craving succulence.
But now the summer has passed.
Itʼs autumn. And so am I.
I embrace my season.
My autumn body. My new eros.

Soft, warm, flesh melts
into cold, hard stone.
A fine drizzle needles my skin.
Tiny gnats whirl and tangle in the overcast sky above me.
The river flows below.
And leaves rattle their last song
before the trees send them on their way.

Skin, stone, leaf, river, rain.

Here, I let go of what once mattered,
of things that younger bodies dream of
and older bodies fear.
No longer motivated by the chemistries
of seeking lovers,
nor a catalogue of aches and ailments
sailing in the winds of entropy.
I am receptive, absorbent
embracing each season
with its own delights and dangers.

I am a lover of this delicious world.

My new eros.

Once again
I am like a child
before she steps outside of herself,
leaving her feeling-body behind,
observing how she looks to others.
As if her shape alone would determine her happiness
in the world.The child is happy
to toss off her clothes
and lay down on the ground,
even if itʼs cold.
Happy to feel the breeze on her skin,
the wet leaves sticking to her back,
her hair all tangled,
blood flowing through her veins,
coming to meet the chill.
Her heart pulsing with the terrain around her.

Laying naked on the earth
I delight in this body,
my own configuration of matter
embraced by stone, softened by leaves, chilled by drizzle,
and celebrate the coming season.

Skin, stone, leaf, river, rain.

My new eros.

Carol

Carol – USA

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The exhibitionist in me jumped at the chance to be a part of this Project.  This isn’t the first time I’ve been photographed naked.  But it dawned on me the night before the shoot that I’d never been naked in front of a camera without projecting my sexuality.  And then I got nervous, and I wondered how I was going to do this, and what would I project, and would I look pretty just being me without the facade of sex.  And I thought about backing out, but then I realized that this was the very idea behind the project,—just being human, vulnerable, and naked—in front of a camera, and I had to see what that felt like….good, bad, ugly…..or maybe hopefully, even beautiful.

My parents predicted I’d be Miss America, but I’ve had body issues my entire life.  Early on, I was awkward and tall, and had acne.  I hated my body and my flat droopy boobs with the humongous nipples, and a slight curvature in my spine still makes it a struggle to stand up straight.  You could tell by the way my shoulders slouched forward that my confidence was hidden and hurting inside of me somewhere.  There was multi-tiered trauma in the formative years that pretty much seared a negative body image into place.  I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror without being repulsed, and wouldn’t dare let anyone see me naked without the light off.  I hated myself and hated my body even more.

But after my 3rd baby was born, I decided to have my breasts lifted so they’d actually sit where they were supposed to be and not droop down and point at the floor.  Every consultation I had suggested I augment, not lift.  And so I did, and then suddenly, overnight, it was as if a new me was born as well.  My confidence soared and my sexuality erupted! You know how you overcompensate for things when you’ve suppressed them for so long and then suddenly you feel free and you might have gone a little too far in the expression but you didn’t care because you felt powerful and empowered and strong and sexy and maybe actually a little bit in control, and finally beautiful?  …some might actually label this acting out…..

Over the years I have pushed myself to an unreachable standard of beauty that I have prescribed only for myself, a perfection I demand from myself that is ultimately unattainable.  Everyone else is allowed to have flaws.  In fact, I find them perfect that way, and beautiful, and wish they wouldn’t be so hard on themselves the way I am on myself.  It’s exhausting to be so critical of myself, and in the end….just plain futile.  To be perfectly honest (which is part of the nakedness of this project)  that wounded child still exists behind the facade, and I’ve spent a lifetime trying to integrate her into the physicality that’s become me, to find peace in the body that we’ve become.  We, that kid and me, are 55 now.  Menopause has come and gone, the children have grown and moved away, two marriages have begun and ended.  Those breast implants are 24 years old now.  We’ve lived a beautiful life.

Most of the time I push forward with the woman in me who is my strength, that Miss America in me who wakes up in a good mood and seizes the day.  She is tall, blonde, bold! (The first line in an online personals ad I’ve used to describe myself.) There is beauty in every aspect of her life.  She is grateful for who she is and what she looks like, for the children she has nurtured, for the relationships she has experienced, for the life she has lived, for the beauty that surrounds her, the beauty that embodies her…….She is still a work in progress.

I hope you see the beauty in me too.

Mikey

Mikey – USA

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I FEEL SO ALIVE!!

Through this experience, I have learned fully the beauty of my body, as well as my soul. I am excited to say that I now feel completely comfortable being naked around anybody.

I LOVE THIS FEELING!

I am so proud of myself to have accomplished feeling and being this way.

Getting here took a long time for me, but it has honestly been worth all the work.

What got me here, you might be wondering?

Confronting myself on what I like and don’t like, through the experiences of my life.

Through my suffering, some of the things I’ve learned:

Growing up in a town that does not accept people that are gay and feeling that I had to be with men for affection, and most of all protection, caused me to feel trapped in a world that was not safe.

Getting an STD was an extremely traumatizing experience. Feelings of embarrassment and fear of being judged led me to stay silent about my ailment. I am grateful to the divine universe that I have healed completely from it. I have now set a practice for myself to always honor my body.

Having two sisters in my family putting me down constantly when I wore a beautiful outfit kept me from fully expressing myself. As I matured into my feminine body, my two eldest sisters constantly made cruel and rude remarks about my body, attempting to tear my self esteem down. Although their tactic worked at first, I am now able to see that their attack on me is simply due to their own insecurities. I realize that the healthiest course of action for me to take is to stay away from that which is destructive, even if they are family.

Through my Joys, some of the things I’ve learned:

Moving to Asheville, NC allowed me to be in an environment that was very supportive of me expressing myself. The caring community of this little mountain city helped to create a place where I felt secure in being gay. Having lived the reality of this acceptance has helped me understand that a place like this really exists.

Most of all getting to this place of abundance in my life came from:

Congratulating myself on the many steps along the way. As soon as I notice myself feeling excited and at ease with things that before were uncomfortable for me, I pause and take a moment to smile and say to myself, “Woohoo, you did it!” Then I celebrate, and treat myself to something I really love. I rent a movie I really enjoy, have a lovely dinner with a friend, or buy a beautiful item of clothing. The next day, I continue toward my goal with excitement, knowing that I am on the right path, seeing and embracing that I am making progress every day.

Right now in my life, I have reached a big goal of mine: To be completely comfortable in my body and soul, which enables me to fully express myself. I now take great joy in knowing and celebrating that a big part of the journey is learning to be comfortable in the uncomfortable.

Now I understand the famous quote by Dan Millman, from The Way of the Peaceful Warrior:

“The journey is what brings us happiness, not the destination.”

For there would be no destination, and no reason to celebrate in our evolution, if everything was known. We are here to learn about our bodies and ourselves.  Through participating in the Embody Project, I now know more about my body and myself. I am so appreciative for this incredible, uplifting, and joyous experience.

Alison

Alison – USA

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Here we are, adapting back into the rawest form of humanity: becoming comfortable in our own skin through the courage and strength that lives within us.

We exist in a society where this power is suppressed. We hide ourselves in garments and in turn our beauty is concealed. We’ve lost the ability to accept each other as the unique creatures that we are, striving to reach for these standards that have been spoon fed to us since day one.

Pass through the arch,

forget the shame that you have been taught,

and gain the power to love yourself.

It’s damaging to the soul being denied the ability to admire our bodies along with those of our brothers and sisters.

There’s a quiet blindness that exists in too many minds.

Unable to distinguish the difference between nudity and sexuality.

Unable to distinguish the difference between humanity and commercialism.

Unable to see the similarities that we all share deep within our souls and on the very surface of our skin.

In order to feel unadulterated love, I have to be at peace with my body.

For my body, I am eternally grateful.

I love my body for the wondrous adventures it’s given me.

For its dance that arises in moments of rhythmic song or even in the midst of silence.

For the grounding sensation it gives me when I dig my hands and feet into the earth.

For the ability to feel another’s heart beating with mine.

And mostly for sticking around no matter how far off my mind has drifted.

Though it has been a long journey down a bumpy road, my body has taught me self-love.

My experience with this project has represented all that is empowerment of the human body. By putting myself out there, I am preaching that I am beautiful and you are, too.

With all of these photos and words, we are screaming that we are beautiful and you are, too!

Jenn

Jenn – USA

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It was less than a minute, standing in the middle of a dark, empty bar, naked, waiting while Erica got the lighting right, before I was feeling strangely comfortable. If I had been standing in front of a mirror I might have felt differently. My eyes falling to all of the places on my body’s mirrored reflection that aren’t “perfect,” and me wishing for them to be some other way. But that didn’t happen. I felt innocent and perfect and alive standing there. Animated even. My skin was soft to my touch and as I stood there sans guitar, I found myself lightly caressing my thighs and feeling beautiful. It didn’t hurt that as Erica continued shooting pictures, she said so.

My body was electric. Warmth and energy flowed to my core around my stomach and genitals. I felt happy. I felt free! When it came time for others to return to the room I found myself hurrying to pull my clothes on, thinking how strange it was that only moments before I had felt so uninhibited.

A few days after the shoot, I started to feel afraid of who would see those pictures.  Afraid of how others might perceive them. People who know me. People who will know me. People that I will work with and for. People at school or in the audience at a show.  People who might otherwise have paid attention to my music.

There is some doubt. There is some fear that my choice to be a part of The Embody Project may have undesirable repercussions; that the thoughts, feelings, and beliefs of others might adversely affect my life and future. I have felt shame. I am more present than ever to the legacy of my culture—that something is wrong with being seen in my own skin.

The Embody Project has been an opportunity for me to take responsibility for the thoughts, feelings and beliefs that I have about my body. If you had asked me a year and a half ago, at the time of my greatest struggle with an eating disorder, to take my clothes off and be photographed, there is no way I would have ever said yes. Today, being part of the project is an integral part of my recovery. My Embody Project is a gift of love, to myself and anyone else who has ever stared with cutting eyes at their own reflection and thought that their body should be some other way.