Feel And Heal

     I am a 28 year old virgin. There. I SAID. IT.      Now let’s talk about that shit. I was 21 the first time it occurred to me that men might want to sleep with me, in my current body. I was at a group therapy session and a tall, bigger woman was called on to share. She was angry, shaking in either fear or fury as she told us, her voice climbing higher and higher, “I feel fat and gross and like men only want me for SEX!”      I was stunned. ONLY?? Like the sex…was an option?? Fucked me up entirely. I could think of nothing else the rest of the day/my life.      I grew up with perfectionist, abusive parents. It’ll probably always be a little hard for me to label it as that but that’s what it was. I can’t remember a time when either of my parents weren’t displeased with the way I look. And I just *knew* that, from a young age. I knew it when we were living in Rwanda and they would tug me away from the dessert table at family gatherings and events, reminding me that other

     I love talking. It’s so great.   I love having a captive audience, whether it’s a toddler or a best friend who’s already got tears of laughter in her eyes. And if there’s no one there to listen but me the story is still amazing, the laughs still so real.      It’s really strange to remember that there was a time when I stuttered horribly. One of the possible factors could be the fact that by time I was six years old I had lived in three different countries and spoke all their respective languages. Remembering who in my life spoke which language was fucking exhausting.      What I do know is that when someone asked me a question, or made a comment and expected one in return, sometimes it took longer for me to make the words come out. I realized there was something wrong with that when I connected people’s mocking laughter, smirks, and awkward glances with the pause that preceded my responses.        Which only made it worse.   My forehead would itch, my cheeks would g

     I modeled nude for an art project, and the really cool thing was that my resulting panic attack conveniently waited to burst out until much later that day.      The actual shoot was amazing and life changing and yet…super chill. Incredibly chill. I was nearly 20 minutes late, which made me stress sweat all over downtown Indianapolis. And that term is really very misleading because going from one end of downtown to the other takes about 4 years and at least 28 near-crashes, half of them due to great big yawning potholes. But I made it to the location, parked my car and walked in as fast as I could.      The photographer, a tall and hilarious man named Jedediah, peeked his head out in the hallway as I approached the studio, and assured me I was fine and okay on time. I got to hug my friend Joey right before going in as she was leaving, her session having been right before mine. Joey was the one who got me into this to begin with, tagging me in an Instagram post that prom