Reflecting on life after being hit by a car, Claire wrote: "Of course, I cringed. In fact, I felt like crying. Looking through the 77 photos Natasha had just sent me, it seemed all of my worst fears were coming true. It was painted clearly there before me in the black and white images on my computer screen. My hair really did look dirty. There was navy blue t-shirt fuzz stuck to my freshly shaven armpits.

My eyes looked like they were wearing last night’s mascara and my skin looked tired and uneven. There was my big nose, my protruding chin, the wrinkles on my forehead, my deep smile lines. If only I had washed my hair first! If only I had done some sexy make-up. If I had moved a little differently. If I had practiced making faces for the camera…

Immediately upon viewing, my inner-critic jumped in and I began to tear myself apart. Each image felt like a stone dropped deep in the pit of my stomach. I tried to console myself with the ones that “weren’t so bad” - Oh you can’t really see your face in this one. Oh the lighting in this one covers up that shadow around your nose– but the sad truth was I felt unprepared, caught off guard, disappointed in myself.

Immediately upon viewing, my inner-critic jumped in and I began to tear myself apart.

And then I let some time pass. And I looked at the images again. And I recognized the absurdity in my initial reaction. If dirty hair and tired skin are the worst of my fears, then I think I’m a pretty lucky lady. And once I knocked down those “fears” a few pegs, I began to look past them. And it was very interesting what I began to see.

I noticed that in many of my photos, I seem to be hiding. Or trying to. Hiding behind my hair, turning away from the camera, at least closing my eyes in an infantile attempt at invisibility. But with Natasha, I couldn’t really hide. She was calm, welcoming, easy, and unassuming. She coaxed me out and made me laugh. She asked me questions and she listened to my answers. And snapping pictures all the while.

Of course I felt self-conscious, often worrying if I looked silly or was “doing it right,” but Natasha’s grace and warmth easily brought me back to the moment we were in, and to the freedom that accompanies that state of just being. In the beautiful afternoon light of the studio, among the soft drapes of fabric, moving, breathing with the music, I felt beautiful. I felt alive. And there was really nowhere to hide, because even behind the curtain of my hair, or over the arch of my shoulder, there was truth. And the more I looked, the more I saw that truth to be beautiful.

In the beautiful afternoon light of the studio, among the soft drapes of fabric, moving, breathing with the music, I felt beautiful.

I recently read that in some yogic practices, forward folds are used as therapeutic postures to help us release the past, and throughout my Femmeography session with Natasha, I found myself continually drawn toward this forward movement, releasing the tension in my neck and spine, allowing the weight of my head and torso to hang at my hips, my fingers grazing the floorboards beneath me like boughs of a willow tree. This year has been a difficult one for me, full of both physical and emotional trauma, and I felt myself dancing, swaying, and forward-folding through it with Natasha as my guide.

Last August, I was hit by a car while riding my bicycle. Though I don’t remember the moment of impact, I remember the rush of energy towards my body and the almost omnipotent understanding of what was happening, as if viewing the accident from above. All in the blink of an eye. And I remember the confusion of waking up facedown on the pavement and the slow realization that the wet, hot feeling around my head was my own wet, hot blood.

Before the accident, I used to wear a tiny little gold necklace, a simple chain encircling the base of my throat, barely visible against my tan skin except when the sun would catch it and cast a momentary glimmer along the length of it. And at the hospital, they cut it off (along with everything else I was wearing at the time) and I never got it back. For months I mourned that little necklace, but more than the gold chain itself, I was mourning the loss of my smooth unblemished canvas. No longer could I wear that chain with the same subtle effect. I was marked.

Last August, I was hit by a car while riding my bicycle.

As my Frankenstein-like sutures slowly healed, I was left with a thick, shiny, red scar along the curve of my left collarbone. I didn’t want to wear necklaces that would bring attention to it. I was tired of explaining things.But then, at some point, I began to accept my scar. And then to love it. My scar is my necklace, I’ve realized. It’s the most precious thing I have. It is a sign of my survival. It tells a story of transformation. It reminds me of all this accident has brought into my life, both good and bad.

Seeing the scar in the photographs was an interesting experience. Very different from seeing it in the mirror. In the black and white, I was able to view it objectively. Not as a blemish, but as something truly interesting and beautiful.

Through the objective viewing of my scar, I began to see the rest of me objectively too. And instead of focusing on my nose, my wrinkles, I started to see my smile, the crinkle at the corner of my eyes. I started to remember the feeling of rolling across the hard wood floor and laughing at how silly I felt! And how fun it was! How very alive I am! My scar is proof of that, and I realize it is now time to learn to accept and love and value myself to the same degree I have my scar.

Femmeography isn’t a beauty pageant. It’s not a contest. It’s an experience among many we will have in our lives. It’s a handful among infinite moments that have been captured in the click of the camera lens. Like the blinking of an eye. A lot can happen in the blink of an eye. A Femmeography session is dancing, breathing, movement, communication. Communication with the space, with the camera, with Natasha, with the body and, most importantly, it is communication with the inner self, in all her forms: the mother, the child, the warrior, the goddess.

Some of the images recall photos from my childhood. I see young Claire shining through the goofy gleam in my eyes. Some of the images speak to my pleasure - brazen smiles or neck arched back in ecstasy. Others speak to my pain - shoulders hunched forward, fingers clenched, some deamon trying to crawl its way out of my skin.

This femmeography session was an invaluable experience and lesson in personal growth. The joy I felt while moving to the music - the rhythm of light, floor, fabric, movement, breath - was something truly liberating. But perhaps more liberating was the process of acceptance that followed my 3rd or 4th viewing of the images.

Dirty hair, tired skin. This is what I look like when I wake up in the morning. When I’m not fully “put together.” Like a toy doll with removable parts, each day I feel required to “assemble” myself before making myself visible to the public. But here I am. Messy, imperfect, intimate. This is how I look when I roll over and smile at the man in my bed. And this is how I look when I am laughing joyously, making dinner with my family. This is me talking late into the night with an old friend. This is me exposed, vulnerable, unguarded. This is me observed, loved, beautiful. Alive. Wet hot blood coursing through my veins. Powerful. This is me joyous. Unapologetic. Exploring. This is me.

Thank you Natasha for this powerful experience. And thank you for experiencing it with us all. I hope that many other girls and women will have the opportunity to dance, grow, learn and love under the compassionate and collective femmeography gaze.

Sincerely and with love to all femmes,

Claire"

-Natasha Komoda is an A Beautiful Body Project Photographer in Bloomington Indiana. Learn more about her work and book a shoot here: http://www.femmeography.com/

To join the movement and get involved, click here: http://www.abeautifulbodyproject.com/join_the_movement