As much as I enjoyed taking pictures of other people, I avoided the camera. I usually hid behind people or just did not get into the picture. I just did not want anyone to see me. I wanted to know where I got that from. I literally tried to act like I am tall (although I am 5’4″ on a good day) and head to the back row of every picture. I volunteered to be the camera person and snapped the pictures. I just did not want to be seen.
Where did this insecurity come from? What has led me to avoid being seen by others? Why am I that self-conscious about being seen for infinity? I enjoy looking at pictures of loved ones, but why do I not want my loved ones to see me in the same light? I had to figure this out and quickly because my kids wanted me to be in their pictures and I hate turning them down. How does that sound, telling my kids that I did not want to take pictures with them? I regretted not taking pictures with my parents growing up and assumed that they would be with me for a long time to correct those wrongs. They are no longer with me and I have very few pictures of them. My mother preferred taking pictures of us kids and I picked up her habit. It is a hard one to break, but I am getting there.
I think my avoidance of taking pictures started in junior high school. I loved taking pictures in elementary school. You could not stop me from grinning and begging Mama to buy my school pictures so I could pass them out to my classmates and relatives. I was a cute, chunky girl with a big smile. When I reached junior high school, I looked like a grown woman and not so cute anymore. I was made fun of and I grew more aware of what was considered pretty by society’s rules. I was obese and my hair was kinky. I wore a Jheri curl, which I loved, but not know how to take care of my hair properly. My clothes were my mom because they did into have cute plus size clothes for teenagers. I began to resent how I looked and did not know how to change the way I felt in my skin. I did not like looking in the mirror and wanted to try anything to look better. Pictures became a curse because it showed me that I would not be pretty or thin enough to be liked by a boy. I would not look like my pretty older sister or cousins, who looked like they had it altogether. Pictures recorded my frumpiness, sadness and difficulty fitting in.
As I became older, I still had issues with my looks. But I did not want to make anyone mad by refusing to be in the pictures. I had a plan: just stand in the back. Or offer to take the pictures. Do anything to distract people from asking me to be in the picture. It worked for several years, too. No one knew how tortured I felt preparing to take pictures. How I wondered if I looked ugly? No matter how big I smiled, no one knew the turmoil I felt when I heard the camera click. When I got married, I was worried about how others would see me in those pictures. How big I looked next to my husband. Did anyone see the stretch marks? The anxiety of taking pictures were ruining the joy of capturing timeless moments with my family and friends. I had to get myself together.
So, I talk myself into finding joy again in picture taking. Recording moments that will not happen again. Showing my girls that whatever state they are in is just fine. Appearance and beauty is in the eye of the beholder. They are created in the sight of God and that makes them beautiful. While I am teaching them these affirmations, I am telling myself the same thing. Who cares that if you see my stretch marks? I carried 3 beautiful girls within my womb. So what if the pictures show my varicose veins in my legs? I was able to cross the finish line at a half marathon! Pictures are there to celebrate those priceless moments, and not to shame me on my flaws (in my head anyway). Keep on taking pictures and recording those moments because you never when you are unable to do so again.