I have never liked taking portraits or being in photos, and certainly not when I was 280, 290… 310 pounds.
I’m hovering around the 240-250 mark – my recent diabetic diagnosis has kinda interrupted my progress temporarily – but I still can’t stand taking photos. I still have body image issues that I haven’t quite quelled.
I think that’s why I dreaded going in today for a studio session. I wasn’t going to do it at all until my grandmother texted me asking for a new photo, and of course I remembered Mother’s Day is this weekend. Whoops on my part.
Fast forward to today, and I’m in two relatively decent outfits, even though one was in shorts and a tee. The other was in my thinning-hair-concealing reversed driver’s cap and khakis, my usual office motif.
Following a multitude of poses and a small hiccup in which my coupon was not accepted (apparently I’m not 18 years of age or younger – whoops again), I left the shop with a small package of prints, which got mailed off immediately afterward.
I was also left with a CD which contains every shot I took – half of which I wish I could delete.
I stared at these shots for about an hour, trying to see (or in this case, not see) what I think I am seeing.
Here’s the results – I’m not showing anyone the photos of me sitting down – I feel like there is still a visible “overdone popover” situation going on in my middle. That I can guarantee is there.
I still “think” I see a beer-barrel gut in these shots – but not nearly as bad as I think I see when I stand in a mirror. I don’t know if this is my mind being… well, my mind… or if there is an actual difference in shape going on.
Still – I can barely manage much of a smile in these photos, despite how hard I tried. It’s not that I’m unhappy or anything like that. It’s just… me, is all I can say.