I like being vulnerable. It’s my favorite thing to do. Being vulnerable to people who don’t want that is no good. But being vulnerable with people who want that from me and will be vulnerable in response–that’s what I live for.
It’s why I write, why I love, and my whole deal. Activism, ritual, support work. Intimacy is my goal, and being vulnerable is necessary for that.
Vulnerable means being uncovered–no deceit or hiding. I’m naked, emotionally and spiritually. Maybe physically too.
This picture my spouse took of me some months ago–my breasts are exposed and seen from a special angle. I feel good about my breasts: they are very pretty. I like their shape, their generous largeness. How they droop down, made of honesty–what you see is what you get. Zero artifice here. The large areolae are delightful, and they’re sensitive and responsive. Any bigger and they would probably hurt my back. Really, they are just right for me. They meet my needs abundantly.
Then my tummy is a little exposed, and sunlight glows upon it. I wear a thin black tanktop, but it’s pulled down to show my breasts, and pulled up to show some tum. My feelings about that part of my body are complicated. My tummy is 100% valid, but most people would not agree. It’s huge. I love my tummy in private, but loving it in public can be challenging.
And you can see a hint of my vulva there. It’s covered–I’m wearing black underwear. But you might perceive part of a vulvic shape. My thighs are visible, the top parts. I like their curves. Blessings to their vulnerable softness.
My hands are there–I touch myself, gently.
I felt sexy, and I want to share this picture. But it’s a big deal. I was going to use it as a pic for another post, without comment, but I thought it might deserve a post for itself.
honoring the work
Yes, I honor that Nest, doing the good work of self-love. Being vulnerable requires that I love myself enough to risk exposure.
Healing old shame is one of the most important things I do. Please don’t believe I come from a happy family.
- My body was not honored.
- My autonomy was not respected.
- Sadly, my sexuality was not treated with mature kindness or given appropriate space.
- My gender was not considered valid. Girls and women were objects, servants, and existed to please. I was expected to make no demands and have no needs, while living to meet the needs of boys and men.
- We did not practice consent.
My family of origin was the opposite of what I needed, in all those ways.
I’ve worked hard for every shred of self-love I’ve created for myself, after a lifetime of shame and heartbreak from the family members who had been shamed and heartbroken themselves.
My family now, which is just me and my spouse, is about respect, fun, pleasure. Our bodies are honored. My gender is valid, and my spouse’s is too. My autonomy is respected in all the ways I need, with more to spare! Our sexualities are treated with mature kindness, and we do consent all day.
Thank goodness for change. And thank you, reader, for seeing my body here, partly naked. I hope it brings you joy, and you see how a fat woman can be beautiful, if you didn’t know already. This is “morbid obesity.” I weigh well over 300 pounds. And I hope you think I’m pretty, being vulnerable like this.
If not, that’s ok too. I hope you can respect me and honor my body as the body of an animal who’s on earth with you at the same time. We’re co-travelers on planet earth. Some of my needs and feelings are like yours, some different. I choose to respect you and all people, and thank you for respecting me.