Day 27

My last photoshoot was for the high school yearbook. Those did not turn out so well. 

Today I’m getting my photos taken for my blog. The photographer and I are in his studio in central Tel Aviv.  

I feel the twinge of body shame. 

I hear a judgey voice in my head. 

It’s Vizzini from The Princess Bride. He’s conceited, smug, and deserves a punch in the face. He mocks me for having the gall to have my  pictures taken. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he says.

I turn up the volume on the music to drown him out.

Gaga is in session. 

Today’s participants: me, my body, the photographer, the camera, and… Michael Jackson.

After about fifteen minutes, we pause to review the photos taken so far.

As images come up on the monitor, I catch my breath. Shapes emerge from light and shadows. My body looks less like me, and more like its own thing. A phenomenon. Less a noun, more a verb.

Surprisingly, I’m okay with what I see. More than okay. I like what I see.

The rest of the photo session is a blur. 

Somehow, I’ve evolved the relationship I have with my body.

When the photoshoot ends, Vizzini stop laughing.

And drops dead in silence.