STRIPPING AWAY BODY SHAME
As a child, I was embarrassed of an oval-shaped, discoloured area of skin I have on my thigh. My mom told me it was a "birth mark." In elementary school, I covered it with my hands when sitting cross-legged. Any opportunity that someone might see it, I attempted to hide it. The one time someone noticed it, they asked very loudly, "What is that on your leg?" Humiliated, I mumbled, "It's a birth mark." I expected everyone to start laughing at me but no seemed interested. Eventually, I grew out of that insecurity and wondered why I had been so sensitive about it. As a stripper, it didn't enter my mind.
My oldest daughter was born with a similar birth mark on her thigh. I was delighted that she inherited such a unique trait from me. I talked lovingly to her about her birth mark and how it connected us. We loved our birth marks together. What I had seen as a hideous flaw as a child became a symbol of beauty and connection when I was an adult.
Like my birth mark embarrassment, I've experienced, as we all do, insecurities about various aspects of my body throughout my life. As a stripper, I was fired once from a gig for having small breasts. Lots of strippers have small boobs. But that week, I was scheduled to work with an all "big boob" line-up. The manager fired me so he could replace me with someone who had larger breasts. It's show business, nothing personal. But I cried the whole way home and never went back to that club.
Later, when I developed Crohn's Disease after a pharmaceutical injury, I started having trouble keeping my weight up. Whenever I became sick, I got so thin you could see my ribs. I didn't want to leave the house or be seen by people. Friends and strangers often told me that I needed to "eat a sandwich." I wanted to scream "FUCK YOU-FUCK YOU-FUCK YOU" every time. But I said nothing and let it go. I knew that they either didn't realize how their words hurt me or they were insecure about their own weight.
After an emergency surgery in 2012, I was left with no belly button and huge keloid scars that ran up, down, and across my stomach. I mourned the loss of stripping. I had always used VIP dancing as a way to supplement my income. But now, my body was hideous to my own eyes. There was no way I would show it to others. When I made love, I wore a shirt. I had a small hernia and used it as an excuse to wear a compression garment that hid my scars when I started giving sensual massages. Later, when I had surgery for a permanent ostomy, I wondered if anyone would ever think I was beautiful again. Would I be able to work as an erotic entrepreneur anymore? Would my boyfriend still desire me?
A few people have told me that my freckles are sun damage and that I should wear foundation. I hate make-up on my skin and I love my freckles, but I'd be lying if I didn't feel ugly when those comments were given. Now, as my skin gets wrinklier and saggier with age, I am often surprised when I look in the mirror and see how old I've become. It surprises me because I still feel so young! Even with everything I've been through, I am like a child – excited, curious, ravenous for learning and meaningful experiences. Yet, my body continues to whither against my will. Alas, aging is the disease that none of us is immune to. Our bodies shrivel, even when our minds stay sharp.
What I think these experiences demonstrate is that as human beings, we find many reasons to feel insecure about our bodies over the years. The majority of us suffer from body shame in one form or another. From worrying that our cocks or boobs are too small to thinking that people will be disgusted by our scars or medical situation, we all have the potential to be deeply ashamed about the parts of ourselves that we have little, if any, control over. Certainly, we can get plastic surgery or go on drastic weight-loss programs. In some ways, we do have options to address our body image challenges. But the root of the problem is not solved. While I encourage people to "get healthy" because it is amazing for the body and the mind, the root of body shame comes from our inability to love and accept ourselves the way we are.
I held onto an image of myself as a stripper for so long that when my body was too scarred to dance anymore, I went through an identity crisis. Each stage of my life that has changed my body in some way was an opportunity for me to learn how to accept myself completely. But I resisted those lessons for a long time. Sometimes I wondered if I held myself to higher standards because of my sex work experience. But in my heart, I knew that my struggle was as old as time; a struggle that all people, regardless of gender or occupation, experience. We grow up believing that we ARE our BODY. Therefore, we become deeply ashamed of anything about our body that shows we are broken or unattractive. In other words, we identify as BROKEN.
The reality is that each of us has a unique body that expresses the beautiful possibilities of existence. And our bodies are only a fraction of what makes us human. WHO WE ARE is SO MUCH BIGGER than our bodies. When people look at us, they see our bodies – but they also see our facial expressions, our behaviour, our compassion or maliciousness, our energy – good or bad. People see a much bigger picture of who we are than what our bodies tell them. We all know that personality can make a person look more or less beautiful. We are whole, perfect, unique, diverse versions of humanity that are much more than our bodies.
Interestingly, it was sex work that helped me strip away my body shame. When I became a stripper and saw many beautiful women with small breasts dancing shamelessly and receiving encores – my social conditioning started to break. I realized that popular media is not the true judge of beauty. If that were the case, then small-breasted, red-headed, curly-haired women with freckles and boy curves wouldn't be considered beautiful. Yet, I was told I was beautiful everyday by men and women alike. When you are naked in front of people all of the time, you can't help but become less and less comfortable with clothes on. When guys in public said to me, "You're really beautiful." I replied, "You should see me with my clothes off." It was a joke meant as banter, but it was also true. I felt truly beautiful and completely comfortable naked, even though I was eons away from being a super model.
Hardship can be a blessing. I was lucky when I was faced with an ostomy surgery at the age of 49 because I already knew that beauty is bigger than our bodies, and I felt beautiful. I would be lying if I told you that I didn't fear the reaction of others. I worried my partner would find me repulsive. I didn't think my clients would still want massages after my surgery. But I was determined not to let the surgery destroy me. People like GoAskAlex (That Pornstar With An Ostomy), who continued to proudly show their naked bodies WITH their ostomy bags, gave me courage and hope.
A huge and incredible tool I used to get through my ostomy surgery was a practice called visualization. I spent 5 minutes every morning for several weeks before my surgery imagining myself going about my life normally and confidently with an ostomy. Doing this had an almost immediate and incredible effect on my mental health. I began to feel like I already had my surgery and everything was fine, because I visualized that it was fine. I believe that visualization was the absolute best thing I could do for my sanity before the body-altering surgery.
When I returned to my intimacy services business, my ostomy wasn't an issue. I had worried for nothing. When a few weeks were slow, I thought it was because of my ostomy. But then it picked up again, reminding me that even people without ostomies have slow and busy periods of work. I was honoured by the warm welcome I received from my regulars when I returned and the unconditional acceptance I received from new clients as well. I've decided that if there are people who don't accept me, then they are not my ideal clients. I've come to love my imperfections. I can now say with absolute honesty:
I love my scars because they are proof of what I can go through and still survive.
I love my ostomy because it has given me my quality of life back.
I love my small, perky boobs and I'm glad I didn't get them enhanced when I was under pressure to do so.
I love getting older and seeing the years on my face – knowing I've lived a full and fulfilling life.
I love my crazy freckles and uneven skin tone that allows me to see my father's face in the mirror sometimes. (RIP Dad)
I love myself. Period. Finally, I can say that and know that I truly mean it. I love myself and I know that I deserve the peace and happiness that I am creating in my life. My wrinkles, scars, ostomy, and little boobies are as much as part of me as my nice, round bum and adorable feet. And those are just my body parts. I am proud of the values I've developed and implemented in my life, as well.
Learning to love my body, with all of its imperfections, has enabled me to see others in the same way. When I meet someone, I see their whole self, not just their parts. I find their unique bodies beautiful – each one like a different snowflake or butterfly – and I send love energy to surround them. When I can tell that someone is insecure about their body, I want to teach them what I've learned so they can strip away their body shame too. Sometimes, it's hard to put into words, but I hope this article explains it. The moral of the story is: You are beautiful, Beautiful. xoxo
Love Annie
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