Content warning: Eating disorders, body shape/size, mental illness, sexuality
I have struggled with body image and self-confidence my entire life. So when I decided to take an in-person workshop, called The Queen’s Den, designed to help women awaken their sensuality and reconnect with their bodies — where I’d be dancing with and in front of women I didn’t know — I was terrified. I stood outside the studio door, convincing myself for a few minutes that I had the courage to follow through. When I was ready, I took a deep breath and walked inside.
The lights were low, made up mostly of warm tones like reds and yellows, and I allowed my eyes to wander around the room as they adjusted to the darkness. I was the last one to arrive, and I watched the other women in lingerie stretching and laughing, realizing I was the only new one. I introduced myself and made a nervous comment that I felt over-dressed — wearing leggings and a maroon ribbed tank top — but was immediately reassured by our teacher, Tara, that this journey to self-admiration was a long, hard one and that we should do anything we can do to make ourselves more comfortable in the process, including our clothing decisions.
The session itself felt like a combination of pilates and yoga at first, slowly warming up our bodies and working us up to more sensual dancing. The final section was reserved for what Tara calls a Witness Dance. During this dance, each woman picks a song and dances however she wants — expressing sadness, happiness, rage, etc. — while the other women sit and witness — not judge or take power from — but just witness and hold space. I was anxious about participating in the dance and, since it was optional, decided to go last to give myself time to decide. What happened next changed me forever. It was incredibly emotional to watch them move their bodies so intentionally for themselves, and their courage and openness convinced me to go through with my own dance. It was the most for me thing that I’ve ever done for myself. It was raw and emotional and angry and intense — bringing up so many feelings I didn’t know had been trapped inside me. There were tears, at times even screaming; our bodies just thrashing around on the floor of that studio. It felt like I was losing control and gaining it back all at the same time. Even though I was aware at times that I was dancing in front of strangers, it still felt safe enough to finally let go. That’s the container that is the Queen’s Den.
For most women, we rarely find ourselves in a situation where we feel free enough to just exist and not be concerned about outward perception. Our bodies and decisions are constantly being judged. In her words, Tara’s work helps you “deepen the connection and awareness within yourself first, healing and moving trapped energy held in the body, creating deeper honor, respect, and passionate love for yourself, and everything about you.” It’s incredibly important work because the world we live in doesn’t exactly teach healing through femininity. Our patriarchal society instead suppresses it by condemning sexuality and eroticism, while also over-sexualizing women’s bodies and holding them to impossible standards.
We have been ruled by Playboy Bunny culture, infatuated with porn and the idea of sex, all while slut-shaming girls and women who are curious about exploring their bodies and sensuality. This is what my experience has been with my own sexuality.
In 2005, I was in junior high, walking around in low-rise denim, with a playboy bunny sticker tan line peaking out in the front and a g-string popping out in the back. Nothing about eroticism or what I knew about sex — or what I was taught about sex — made it seem like it was also for my pleasure. Everything seemed to be for men, and in turn, anything I did was for their attention. We needed to be thin — very thin — and sexy, but not too slutty. That’s what pop culture was teaching us back then.
It was an era where movies, television, and advertising sold the story that women had to be the sexy girl-next-door — not too forward but not too much of a prude — always leaving men wanting more. It was denim mini skirts, see-through tops that revealed belly button piercings, tight low-rise jeans, push up bras and spray tans. I have siblings a decade older than me so I was exposed to late 90s/early 2000s music, television, language, and fashion before I was ten. With TRL — Total Request Live — on MTV, we saw the emergence of video vixens in music videos — Bobbie Brown in “Cherry Pie” by Warrant (1990), Melyssa Ford in Jay-Z’s “Big Pimpin’” (2000), and LoLa Monroe in “I Get Money” by 50 Cent (2007). Their presence was both empowering and conflicting. These women became icons in their own right, showing that women can be out loud with their sex appeal, but they also added to the impossible body standards that already existed. Female artists, steered by their managers and choreographers, also contributed to the narrative. Christina Aguilara told us “What A Girl Wants” in her 1999 music video where she danced alongside her friends purely for the male gaze while her boyfriend and his friends watched. These issues didn’t start in the 90s, but are instead a product of issues that have plagued American society for over a century. Two decades before Sisqo’s The Thong Song (1999) came out, Roy Raymond created Victoria’s Secret with the hopes that men would feel more comfortable buying lingerie for their wives, even designing a catalog where men could “shop” at home — and eventually a fashion show in the 90s where women’s bodies were on display on national television.
Additionally, two decades before that, the first issue of Playboy was published in 1953.
One main issue that comes from over-sexualization is guilt and shame — from either being too sexual or not sexual enough — which can be long-lasting. As girls and young women, we often find ourselves struggling between wanting to be loved and wanting to stay true to ourselves and our morals, but it’s hard to find that balance when you’re just starting to learn about dating and sexuality. As we find out in “Pamela, A Love Story”, Pamela Anderson had dreams of being a serious actor, but early in her career, she was already being over-sexualized as a blonde bombshell in her hit show “Baywatch”. After 1996 when home videos were maliciously stolen from her home with then husband Tommy Lee, she fell victim to the paradox of being a woman in America: viewed as a sexual goddess whose body exists only for men to gawk at, touch, and fantasize over but ridiculed for being a willing participant in her own sexual experiences — and taking pleasure in them. This culture raised women that have grown up to be erotically silenced, afraid of their own sexuality — even ashamed of it — causing them to grow up to be closed off emotionally, sexually, and physically to themselves and their partners.
Another huge problem that exists in society is, of course, our issues with body image. Growing up, I remember thinking a lot about weight and what I looked like — I still do. Since it was hugely important to be perceived as thin in our society during that time, it made the trend of exposing midriff a complicated one because many of us weren’t proud to show our bodies in that way. The fads were “diet pills” and home workout equipment guaranteed to help you lose those extra pounds — think of shake weights and the thigh master, both things my mom owned. The culture of thinness started much earlier; the first time we see a rise in eating disorders was in the 1920s during the flapper movement. Other prevalent years for thinness were the 1960s and the 1980s, which brings us to the 1990s and early 2000s. The shift to thicker (slim-thick) bodies didn’t happen until the 2010s when The Kardashians and Influencer culture changed the way we view “ideal” bodies.
The problem is that there is no ideal body type, and most of these bodies are achieved through plastic surgery or other extreme measures. We are not all going to be able to attain the same body shape because every physical body is different. That unattainability — and the shame that comes with it — is what has led to so much disordered eating. In my experience, I’ve done things like count calories, mirror-check, grab at the places on my body where fat exists, portion control, and obsessively check the scale. With therapy, and a lot of forgiveness, I’ve been learning to not only accept my body, but to adore it for all that it does for me, and to understand that the messages put out to us — on television, in advertising, on Instagram — are mostly rooted in product sales and should not be confused with my actual lived experience.
It has been an incredibly challenging act of self-love to rewire my brain in a way that views my sensuality as a tool for my pleasure, not as a vehicle for attention, but to accept my body as it is. As I danced that first time, it was the only time up until then that I had ever felt like my body was my own. Surrounded by women that likely have very similar stories and experiences as I do, I felt held and safe for the first time in my entire life. Watching them move and feel free in their own bodies, knowing our dances were for our eyes only, was a gift that would only be the beginning of my journey. The Queen’s Den helped me lay the groundwork, but I knew there would be a long, hard road ahead.
There are many ways I’ve been working to reconnect with my body after years of dissociating from myself. In addition to working with Tara, I’m also currently working with an incredible therapist that gives me a safe space to deal with the body dysmorphia and people pleasing that I developed in junior high. Our work together reminds me that my body is my home and safe space, and that I am worthy of love — from others and from myself.
There are many places and practices available to help you overcome issues with body image, self-confidence and self-respect. I try to remind myself that my body is whole, and, if I do look into the mirror, to avoid focusing on one part of my body and instead choose to look at every body part to remember how important it is for daily function.
It’s hard but important to adjust our brains to see fitness as a tool for long-term health and well-being and not as a vehicle for weight loss. One of the biggest lifestyle changes that can help is taking time away from social media, even just setting time limits — thirty minutes or an hour. Another helpful social media tip I’ve gotten is to curate social feeds to support what you need from social media. I unfollowed most workout profiles and influencers that focus on superficial things like makeup, fashion or their body, and instead I replaced them with profiles based around nature, positive body image, and learning. There are many organizations that share tips on how to improve self-image, like NEDA.
Still, with all the work I’ve already put into it, I continue to struggle from time to time. The reason this work is important — the work of people like Tara, and other teachers, healers and therapists — is because the next generations deserve a chance to love themselves and recognize that there is no ideal body, to know that their bodies are for them and no one else. It can stop with you, with hard work, reminding yourself every single day that you are worthy of love and that you are enough. Because you are enough. Exactly as you are and exactly as you come.
Author’s note: I write about my personal experiences and recognize everyone’s experience will be different than mine. I honor and validate all people/bodies that have had a strained relationship with food, size, and shape. I recognized that women are not the only ones impacted by societal norms and over-sexualization, and I honor and validate all people that have struggled with these issues.
I would love to hear any thoughts you’d like to share about your experience. I am always open for discussion and welcome that in the comments section.
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