The Parts You Keep Hidden Are the Ones You Need Most

WEEK 38 - The Woman You Were Afraid To Become

You've been managing her for years. Keeping her quiet. Making sure nobody sees how much she's actually there.

By Jennifer Dirksen · Sheer Photography, Youngstown OH · Est. read time: 6 min

There's a version of you that you don't show people.

Not the polished version. Not the good woman, the capable woman, the woman who has it together. The other one. The one that's too much. Too wild. Too real. The one who wants things you haven't said out loud. Who feels things at a volume most people around you can't handle. Who is, if you're being completely honest, a little frightening in how fully herself she is.

You've been managing her for a long time.

Keeping her quiet in meetings, in relationships, at family dinners. Making sure she doesn't make anyone uncomfortable. Editing her down to something more digestible. Something safer. Something that fits.

Here's what I want to tell you: she's not the problem. She's the point.

Why we hide her.

It didn't happen all at once. It never does.

It was the moment you said something true and the room went quiet in the wrong way, so you learned to soften it. The time you wanted something and were made to feel like wanting it was the issue. The version of yourself you expressed once (fully, without editing) and the response told you that version needed to stay inside.

So you put her there. You got good at managing her. You learned which rooms she was allowed in and which ones required the filtered version, the easier version, the version that kept everyone comfortable.

And somewhere along the way, the management became automatic. The filter became default. And the distance between who you actually are and who you show up as started to feel normal.

It isn't normal. It's just practiced.

The parts of yourself you've been managing the hardest are usually the ones with the most power in them. You didn't lock away the boring parts. You locked away the ones that were too much… which means the ones that were most real.

What gets lost when she stays hidden.

It's not just her. It's everything she carries.

The clarity she has about what she actually wants. The instinct she has about what's wrong before you can name it. The energy she brings into a room when she's not being held back. The joy she feels (unfiltered, at full volume) when she's allowed to actually feel it.

You don't just lose the wild parts when you keep her locked away. You lose access to yourself. The real one. The one who knows things and feels things and wants things that the managed version has been quietly suffocating for years.

And the longer she stays hidden, the harder it is to know what's actually you anymore… and what's just the performance that replaced her.

What happens when she gets a few hours out.

I'm going to tell you something I've watched happen hundreds of times in my studio.

A woman walks in performing. She's warm and easy and apologizing for her body before I've touched the camera. She's the managed version. The safe one. I've seen her a thousand times.

But, somewhere in the middle of the session… she comes out!!!

It's different every time but it always looks the same. Something in the face changes. The jaw unclenches. The eyes stop monitoring and start being. The body stops managing how it's being seen and just exists in the space. And suddenly the woman in front of my camera is not the one who walked in the door.

She's the real one. The one who's been back there the whole time. And she is always the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Not because she's performing beauty. Because she stopped performing anything at all.

She doesn't need to be managed. She needs to be met.

Here's the thing about the version of you that's too much:

She's too much for the people who needed you small. She is exactly enough for the life you actually want.

The relationships, the work, the version of yourself you move through the world as… all of it gets better when she's in the room. Not in spite of her being a lot. Because of it. Because the woman who knows herself fully, who stopped hiding the parts that felt dangerous, who let the real one out… she makes different choices. She asks for different things. She stops settling for the version of her life that was built around keeping her quiet.

You don't need to manage her anymore. You need to meet her. Let her out. Find out what she's been trying to tell you for all the years you've been keeping her locked away.

A boudoir session is four hours of that. Four hours where the managed version gets a day off. Where the only thing being asked of you is to show up as yourself… the real one, the full one, the one you've been hiding… and let me document her!

She's been waiting long enough. 🖤 The investment is smaller than another year of waiting.

→ If You’re Done Waiting fill out the form below!

You're Allowed to Be a Little Intimidating

WEEK 37 - The Woman You Were Afraid To Become

You've spent years making yourself easier to be around. What if that was never the goal?

By Jennifer Dirksen · Sheer Photography, Youngstown OH · Est. read time: 5 min

There is a woman I see in my studio sometimes who walks in already knowing.

Not knowing how the session will go. Not knowing what she'll look like in the photos. Just knowing herself. Settled in it. Not performing ease or warmth or accessibility. Not managing how she's coming across. Just present, in her own skin, completely unbothered by whether the room adjusts to her or not.

She is, to be direct about it, a little intimidating.

And she is absolutely magnetic.

We were taught to be approachable.

Think about the feedback women get from the time they're small.

Smile more. Be friendlier. You seem cold. You're a lot. Soften that. Don't be so serious. Make people feel comfortable around you.

The message, delivered a thousand different ways across a lifetime: your job is to be approachable. Your job is to make everyone around you feel at ease. Your job is to sand down whatever edges you have so nobody feels the sharpness of them.

And most of us did it. We got very, very good at being easy to be around.

But here's what nobody tells you about approachable: it is not the same as powerful. It is not the same as magnetic. It is not the same as the kind of woman people remember long after she's left the room.

Approachable is comfortable. Comfortable is forgettable.

"The woman who knows exactly who she is doesn't need to make you comfortable. She's too busy being herself."

What intimidating actually means.

Let's be clear about what we're talking about, because intimidating has been used as an insult for so long that most women flinch when they hear it.

Intimidating doesn't mean cold. It doesn't mean unkind, distant, or impossible to connect with.

It means you walk into a room and something shifts. Not because you're trying to dominate it. Because you're not trying to disappear in it either. You take up the space you're in without apologizing for it. You say what you mean without editing it down to something easier to digest. You know what you want and you're not embarrassed about wanting it.

That's it. That's the whole thing.

The woman who is a little intimidating isn't performing power. She just stopped performing smallness. And the contrast (against a world full of women who have been making themselves smaller for decades) reads as enormous.

The women who intimidate me (in the best way).

I have photographed hundreds of women in my studio. And the ones I think about long after the session is over are not the ones who were the easiest to work with.

They're the ones who knew themselves.

The woman who showed up and told me exactly what she wanted. Who wasn't apologizing for her body or her age or her desires before I'd even picked up the camera. Who looked into the lens like she'd been waiting for this… not nervously, not performing confidence, but genuinely, quietly certain that she belonged here and that these photos were going to be worth something.

She wasn't trying to be intimidating. She was just done being the opposite.

And the photos? Unreal. Because the camera captures what's true. And what was true about her was undeniable.

Knowing yourself is the whole thing.

Here's what I've learned after fifteen years of doing this:

The transformation that happens in a boudoir session isn't really about the lingerie. It isn't about the lighting or the angles or what I do with the camera.

It's about the two or three hours a woman spends being asked to just be herself. Fully. Without the performance of smallness. Without the constant monitoring of how she's coming across. Without the good-woman filter running in the background.

And what happens when she drops all of that is not that she becomes more. It's that she finally becomes exactly who she already was.

That's what's in the photos. That's what she takes home. Not an image of herself performing confidence… an image of herself actually having it. Settled. Certain. Completely at home in her own skin.

A little intimidating. Entirely herself.

That's the most beautiful thing I know how to photograph.

You don't have to earn the right to take up space.

You have been managing your edges for a long time. Softening them, sanding them down, making sure nobody felt the sharpness of who you actually are.

You can stop.

Not because the world is ready for you. It may not be. But because you have been waiting for permission that was never coming, from people who were never going to give it, to be exactly who you already are.

You don't need to be more likable. You don't need to be easier to be around. You don't need to be any less than the full, specific, unapologetic version of yourself.

You're allowed to be a little intimidating. 🖤

The investment is smaller than another year of waiting.

→ If You’re Done Waiting fill out the form below!

What If You Stopped Being the "Good" Woman?

WEEK 36 - The Woman You Were Afraid To Become

The woman you've been performing is not the woman you are. And the one you've been hiding? She's the one worth knowing.

By Jennifer Dirksen · Sheer Photography, Youngstown OH · Est. read time: 6 min

What does it mean to be a good woman?

Think about it honestly. Not the version you'd say out loud in polite company. The version that lives in your body. The one you measure yourself against every single day without even realizing you're doing it.

Good women are agreeable. They're warm and accommodating and easy to be around. They don't ask for too much. They don't cause problems. They show up for everyone without making anyone feel guilty about the cost. They're supportive and selfless and they make the people around them feel comfortable.

Good women don't have too many needs. Don't take up too much space. Don't make things complicated.

Sound familiar?

Now let me ask you something else: how does she feel? That good woman you've been performing for years… does she feel alive? Does she feel like you? Or does she feel like a role you've gotten so good at playing that you've started to forget there was ever a version of you underneath it?

"The good woman is often the most exhausted woman in the room. Because she's been performing a character for so long she's forgotten she wrote herself out of the script."

The "good woman" performance.

Here's what I've noticed after working with women for over a decade:

The women who are the most exhausted aren't the ones with the hardest lives. They're the ones who have been the most relentlessly good. The ones who have been agreeable when they wanted to push back. Pleasant when they wanted to be honest. Accommodating when they wanted to draw a line.

The performance of goodness is one of the most draining things a woman can sustain. Because it requires constant monitoring. Constant self-editing. A continuous internal calculation of: how is this landing? am I being too much? am I making someone uncomfortable? do I still seem likable?

It's f*cking exhausting!!! And it's costing you something real.

Not just your energy. Your identity babe!!! The longer you perform the good woman, the further you get from the actual woman… the one with edges and opinions and desires that don't fit neatly into what everyone around you wants from you.

What the "good woman" gives up.

She gives up her honest reaction to things that bother her. She gives up the boundary she wanted to draw but didn't because she didn't want to seem difficult. She gives up the desire she felt but suppressed because it didn't seem appropriate. She gives up the opinion she had but softened because the room wasn't ready for it.

She gives up pieces of herself. Quietly. Consistently. In ways that feel like small compromises but add up to something much larger.

And eventually (if she's not careful) she gives up the ability to know what she actually thinks and feels and wants at all. Because she's been filtering herself for so long that the signal is barely there anymore.

That's not goodness. That's erasure. And it has been dressed up as virtue for so long that most women can't even see it.

The woman underneath the performance.

She's still there. She has been the whole time.

The version of you that has opinions she doesn't soften. Desires she doesn't apologize for. Boundaries she doesn't need to justify. Energy that takes up the full space she's in without monitoring whether that's okay with everyone.

She's the woman who says what she means the first time. Who wears the thing without wondering if it's too much. Who walks into a room and doesn't immediately start making herself easier to be around.

She might feel dangerous to you. She probably has felt dangerous for a long time. Because you've been told (directly or indirectly, in ways you can name and ways you can't) that she's too much. That she's difficult. That good women don't look like her.

But she's not too much. She's just unfamiliar. And there is a difference.

"The version of you that you've been afraid to become isn't dangerous. She's just the real one. And she has been waiting a very long time for you to stop being so polite about letting her out."

What happens when you stop performing.

I want to tell you what I see in my studio when a woman stops being the good woman for a few hours.

She walks in performing. Most of them do. Apologizing for themselves before I've even picked up a camera. Making jokes about their body. Trying to be easy, likable, low-maintenance… even here, even in a space that exists entirely for her.

And then something shifts.

It usually happens somewhere in the middle of the session. After the hair and makeup. After the first look. After she's seen one image on the back of the camera that didn't match the story she's been telling about herself. Something relaxes. The performance drops. And the real one shows up.

She's different. The way she holds herself changes. The way she looks into the lens changes. There's something in her face that wasn't there in the first frame… a knowing, a presence, a quality that I can only describe as her finally being in the room instead of managing her experience of it.

Those are always the best photos. Not the ones where she's trying hardest. The ones where she stopped trying entirely and just showed up.

That's the woman worth photographing. That's the woman worth being.

Stopping the performance doesn't make you difficult.

I want to be clear about this because I think it's the fear that keeps most women locked in the role:

Dropping the good woman performance doesn't make you a bad person. It doesn't make you cold, selfish, unkind, or difficult to love.

It makes you real.

And real is magnetic in a way that performed goodness never gets to be. Because people can feel the difference (even when they can't name it) between a woman who is genuinely present and a woman who is managing her presence for your comfort.

The women who are actually memorable, actually magnetic, actually the kind of person people orbit… they're not the most agreeable ones in the room. They're the most real ones. The ones who say what they mean. Who take up space without apologizing for it. Who are fully, specifically, unapologetically themselves.

That's available to you!!! The moment you decide the performance is over.

October at Sheer.

This month we're going somewhere most content doesn't go.

We're talking about the woman you've been afraid to become. Not because she's dark or dangerous or something to be cautious about. But because she is the real you (the fully expressed, completely unfiltered, absolutely done performing version of you) and she deserves to exist outside of the space you've been keeping her in.

A boudoir session is where I've watched that woman show up more reliably than anywhere else I know. Because for a few hours, the good woman gets a day off. Nobody needs her to manage anything. Nobody needs her to be easy or agreeable or pleasant. The only thing being asked of her is to show up as herself.

And when she does?

The camera doesn't lie.

She was never the problem. The performance was. 🖤

The investment is smaller than another year of waiting.

→ If You’re Done Waiting fill out the form below!

Done Apologizing for Becoming Someone Younger Me Wouldn't Recognize

WEEK 35 - Done Apologizing

You were never supposed to stay the same. Growth was always the point. And the woman you've become deserves to stop explaining herself.

By Jennifer Dirksen · Sheer Photography, Youngstown OH · Est. read time: 6 min

I want you to think about who you were at 22. Or 25. Or 28. Whatever version of yourself feels far enough away to be useful here.

Think about what she wore. What she tolerated. What she was afraid of. Who she was trying to be. How much energy she spent on being liked, being the version of herself that caused the least friction in the room.

Now look at who you are today.

Maybe you dress differently now… bolder, darker, more intentionally yourself. Maybe you've stopped tolerating things that younger you would have quietly absorbed for years. Maybe you speak more directly now, take up more space, care significantly less about whether everyone in the room approves of you.

Maybe you love differently. Want differently. Move through the world differently.

Maybe younger you would look at the woman you've become and not quite recognize her.

Good!!!

That's not something that happened to you. That's something you did. That's not loss. That's arrival. And instead of asking what happened to me… the answer is two words: I happened.

"You weren't supposed to stay the woman you were at 22. She was the beginning. You are what she was becoming."

The pressure to stay the same.

Here's something nobody talks about clearly enough: people are uncomfortable when you change.

Not all people. Not always. But often enough that most women have felt it… the subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) pressure from the people around them to remain recognizable. To stay the version of themselves that everyone has already adjusted to. To not suddenly want different things or speak differently or draw different boundaries or become someone who surprises them.

Because when you change, it requires the people around you to change too. To update their understanding of who you are. To make room for a version of you that doesn't fit the mold they've gotten comfortable with.

And that's inconvenient for them.

So the message (delivered in a hundred small ways) is: stay where you were. stay who you were. don't make this complicated.

And a lot of women listen. They shrink back into the familiar shape. They apologize for the ways they've grown. They perform the old version of themselves to keep the peace, while the new version (the real one, the one that's been slowly, quietly becoming for years) waits.

We're done making the new version wait. 🖤

What younger you didn't know yet.

She was doing her best. I want to say that first because this isn't about criticizing her.

But younger you was also carrying things she didn't know she was carrying. Beliefs about who she was supposed to be. Fears about what would happen if she took up too much space. Patterns she'd inherited from the women before her (about what love looks like, what a woman's role is, what she's allowed to want) that she hadn't examined yet because she didn't know she could.

She was people-pleasing in ways she called consideration. She was shrinking in ways she called humility. She was staying quiet in ways she called keeping the peace.

She was doing the best she could with what she had.

And then life happened. And the years happened. And the hard things happened. And somewhere in the middle of all of it (the losses and the pivots and the relationships and the moments you weren't sure you'd survive) you started to see through the patterns. To question the beliefs. To shed the versions of yourself that were never really yours to begin with.

That process is not something to apologize for. It's the whole point.

The woman you've become.

Let me describe her. You tell me if I'm close.

She wears what she wants now… not what's appropriate or acceptable or what won't cause a comment. She's found her signature. Her dark lip or her gold jewelry or her particular way of carrying herself that says I know who I am without saying a word.

She says NO now. Not perfectly, not always without the residual guilt, but more than she used to. She's learned that her no is a complete sentence and that protecting her energy is not selfishness.

She's stopped explaining herself to people who aren't going to understand anyway. Stopped shrinking in conversations to make other people more comfortable. Stopped going to every argument she's invited to.

She wants different things now than she did at 25. Deeper things. More honest things. Things that are actually hers rather than things she was told she should want.

She's been through enough to trust herself — not completely, not without the occasional doubt spiral, but more than before. She has evidence now. Evidence that she can handle hard things. That she is more resilient than she knew. That the things that were supposed to break her didn't.

She is not the woman younger you imagined becoming. She is better. More real. More fully herself than any version that came before.

"She is not who younger you imagined becoming. She is what younger you was quietly working toward… without knowing it yet."

I happened.

I want to sit with those two words for a second because I think they're the most important thing in this blog.

I happened.

Not life happened to me. Not circumstances happened to me. Not other people's choices, other people's needs, other people's ideas of who I should be happened to me.

I happened. My choices. My growth. My willingness to keep becoming even when it was uncomfortable. Even when it required disappointing people. Even when the new version of me didn't fit neatly into the life the old version had built.

The woman you are today is not an accident. She is not a deviation from who you were supposed to be. She is the result of years of living and learning and losing things and finding things and slowly, imperfectly, courageously choosing yourself over and over again even when it didn't feel like courage at the time.

You don't owe anyone an apology for that.

Not for the ways you've changed. Not for the things you've stopped tolerating. Not for the desires that shifted or the boundaries you finally drew or the version of yourself that surprised everyone… including you.

You happened. Own it. 🖤

What this month has been about.

We started September with a simple premise: we're done apologizing.

Done apologizing for taking up space. Done apologizing for our desire. Done apologizing for wanting more than motherhood. And now, done apologizing for becoming someone our younger selves wouldn't recognize.

Because all of it comes down to the same thing: you are a woman in the middle of becoming. Not finished. Not arrived. Not the polished, final version of yourself.

But more fully yourself than you have ever been. And moving (imperfectly) toward more.

That's not something to explain. That's not something to justify. That's not something to make smaller so it's easier for everyone around you to hold.

That's something to celebrate.

What a boudoir session looks like at this point in your story.

Here's what I've noticed after a decade of doing this: The women who walk into Sheer and cry the hardest at their reveals are almost never crying because they look beautiful. They're crying because they see themselves clearly and what they see is not the woman they used to be. It's the woman they've become.

And she's extraordinary.

Not despite everything she's been through. Because of it. The life in her face. The way she holds herself. The particular quality of her presence that only comes from having lived enough to stop performing and start inhabiting.

That's what a boudoir session captures when it's done right. Not just how you look in this moment. Who you've become. The specific, irreplaceable, completely-yours version of you that exists at this exact point in your story.

Younger you couldn't have given me these photos. She wasn't here yet.

You are. And she is worth every single frame. 🖤

The investment is smaller than another year of waiting.

→ If You’re Done Waiting fill out the form below!

We're Done Apologizing for Wanting More Than Motherhood.

WEEK 34 - Done Apologizing

By Jennifer Dirksen · Sheer Photography, Youngstown OH · Est. read time: 6 min

You can adore your children completely and still want an identity that isn't exclusively "Mom." Those two things were never supposed to be in conflict.

I want to say something that mothers aren't supposed to say.

I love my daughter more than I have words for. She is one of the great loves of my life. Being her mom has changed me in ways I couldn't have predicted and wouldn't trade for anything.

And motherhood was never supposed to be the whole of me.

There. I said it.

Not because I don't love her enough. Not because I'm selfish or ungrateful or less devoted than the mothers who seem to have dissolved completely and happily into the role. But because I am a full human being with desires and ambitions and a relationship with myself that existed before she did… and that relationship deserves to keep existing.

We have been sold a story about what good motherhood looks like. And in that story, the good mother sacrifices. She puts her children first… not sometimes, not most of the time, but always, completely, without remainder. She measures her love by what she gives up. By how small she makes herself. By how thoroughly she disappears into the role.

And we have been quietly destroying ourselves trying to live up to it.

"Your children don't need you to disappear in order to prove that you love them. They need you to show them what a woman looks like when she's fully alive."

The identity that got swallowed.

Before you were somebody's mother, you were somebody. PERIOD.

You had things you loved that had nothing to do with anyone else. Dreams that were yours. A sense of yourself (what you wanted, what lit you up, what kind of life you were building) that existed independently of your role in other people's lives.

And then motherhood arrived. And it asked everything of you. Which is right and beautiful and also (if you're not careful) all-consuming in a way that leaves almost nothing of the original you intact.

It happens slowly. You stop making time for the things that were yours. The career goal gets deferred. The trip gets postponed. The hobby gets quietly abandoned because there's no time and you feel guilty prioritizing it anyway. The friendship gets thinner and thinner until it's mostly just likes on Instagram. The body that used to feel like yours starts to feel like something you're just living in, managing, apologizing for.

And one day you look up and realize: I don't actually know who I am outside of this role.

That's not a sign you're a bad mother. It's a sign you've been a self-erasing one. And the two things are not the same.

What you're allowed to want.

All of it!!! You're allowed to want all of it.

A career that challenges you and means something to you and takes up real space in your life… not just the scraps of time left over after everyone else is taken care of.

A business you're building because it lights you up, not just because it fits around the school schedule.

Travel that is for you… not the family vacation you planned and managed and photographed for everyone else's memories, but a trip where you get to be a person in the world without being responsible for anyone else's experience of it.

Adventure. Aliveness. The feeling of doing something that scares you a little and makes you feel like yourself in a way that carpool and meal planning simply cannot.

Alone time that is genuinely restorative and not just the fifteen minutes between when the kids go to bed and when you fall asleep on the couch.

Romance that actually reaches you… not the kind that happens when everything else is done, but the kind that makes you feel like a woman first and a mother second for an hour.

Friendships that go deep. That aren't just mom friends or work friends or people you see at the same events but people who actually know you (the full, complex, real you) and show up for that person.

Hobbies that are completely pointless and completely yours. That don't produce anything or benefit anyone and exist entirely because they make you feel good.

A body that feels like home instead of a project. Dreams that have nothing to do with your children's futures and everything to do with your own.

You are allowed to want every single one of these things. Not instead of being a devoted mother. In addition to it.

"Wanting a life that belongs to you (in addition to the one you share with your children) is not a failure of love. It's an act of it."

Your children don't need you to disappear.

Here's the thing I most need you to hear… and I need you to actually hear it, not just read past it:

Your children do not need you to disappear in order to prove that you love them.

They don't need you to give up every dream, every ambition, every piece of yourself that exists outside of them. They don't need you to model complete self-erasure as the definition of love. They don't need to grow up watching their mother shrink.

What they need (what they are watching for, whether you realize it or not) is a woman who knows who she is. A woman who has desires and pursues them. A woman who takes care of herself with the same devotion she brings to taking care of everyone else. A woman who shows them, by living it, that you can love people completely without losing yourself in them.

Your daughter is watching how you treat yourself. Your son is learning what women are allowed to want. The most powerful thing you can do for them isn't to disappear into motherhood.

It's to show them what a woman looks like when she's fully alive.

The guilt that lives here.

I want to acknowledge it because pretending it doesn't exist won't help anyone.

The guilt is real. The moment you want something for yourself (really want it, pursue it, make it a priority) something in you flinches. Should I be spending this time with my kids? Is this selfish? What kind of mother am I?

That guilt is not a moral compass. It's a symptom of how thoroughly we've been taught that our desires are in competition with our love for our children.

They're not. They never were. The guilt is lying to you.

A depleted, self-erased mother is not a better mother. She's a woman running on empty who has nothing real left to give. Only going through the motions. Only showing up in body while her spirit checks out from the exhaustion of having nothing left that belongs to her.

You being full (having things that are yours, pursuing things that light you up, maintaining a relationship with yourself that exists independently of your children) makes you a better mother. Not a worse one.

What a boudoir session looks like when you're a mom.

It looks like a Tuesday afternoon when someone else picks up the kids.

It looks like walking into a studio and spending the first ten minutes just exhaling… because for the first time in weeks, nothing is being asked of you. Nobody needs anything. The only thing happening in this room is you.

It looks like hair and makeup and looking at yourself in the mirror and thinking… oh. There she is!!!

The woman underneath the mom. The one who has desires and a body that belongs to her and a face that is more than just tired. The one who has been so thoroughly buried under the role that seeing her feels almost like meeting someone you used to know.

Women who are mothers book sessions at Sheer for a lot of different reasons. But the thread that runs through almost all of them is this: they want to remember who they are outside of the role. They want evidence that she still exists.

She does. She always did.

You are a mother. And you are so much more than that.

Both things are true. Both things deserve to take up space. 🖤

The investment is smaller than another year of waiting.

→ If You’re Done Waiting fill out the form below!

Why I Finally Did a Boudoir Session (& You Should Too!)

Hey #SheerBeauties! I took a big leap and traveled from New York to Youngstown, Ohio for my first boudoir shoot. It took a whole year of planning, intense workouts, and lots of prayer to make this happen…but it was all worth it! I'm excited to share the behind-the-scenes story & some of my favorite images with all of you.

There are many different reasons a person may want to do a boudoir session. For some it may serve as a wedding or anniversary gift, for others they may want to overcome body image issues or get a confidence boost. For me personally I had been following a dynamic couple; Brian and Jen, for many years on Instagram. Initially I had wanted to work with them as soon as I saw their feed and realized how incredibly talented they are. Despite this I was still a little apprehensive and it did take time for me to get more comfortable with the idea of being so vulnerable with my body in front of strangers. 🍑 I pretty much sat on the sidelines & pondered about how things would go if I ever booked my own shoot. Eventually one day I just decided to go for it & I’m so thankful I did! Shopping for lingerie & scouting out poses was so much fun. I really feel like my photos captured my personality and I was truly captivated & in awe of how I was captured on film. 

One of my favorite parts of my shoot was recreating the famous scene from the Wolf of Wall Street, “Morning Ritual”. Featured in these photo with me is an amazing local model, Tyjaan King.

When I saw my boudoir photos it was such a surreal feeling. I had never quite seen myself that way before & it felt almost as if I was seeing myself for the first time. The experience of seeing my photos allowed me to see how beautiful I truly am. Going through my divorce at a young age had left me feeling insecure, and this boudoir shoot definitely helped me validate myself and feel more confident in my own skin. It was worth every penny I spent! I can't wait to do it all again!

So, I challenge you to do a boudoir shoot at least once in your life. It doesn't matter if you're male or female, big or small, young or old. Boudoir photography is for everyone. It's time to embrace your inner beauty and celebrate yourself!

XOXO, Victoria

Don’t be shy…

Oh honey, boudoir sessions are all the rage among us ladies. And let me tell you, it's not just about getting those sexy shots. It's about honoring and loving yourself just the way you are. No matter what shape or size you are, boudoir photography makes you feel like the goddess you truly are. So, don't be shy. Embrace your beauty and go for it! To inspire you, we interviewed one of our #SheerBeauties. Her thoughts are a true gem, so keep on reading.

WHY DID YOU TAKE THE LEAP TO BOOK A BOUDOIR SESSION? I was inspired by an incredibly sexy and beautiful friend who had also had a photo shoot with Sheer Photography.

HOW DID YOU FEEL WALKING INTO THE STUDIO THE DAY OF YOUR SESSION? Wow, I gotta tell you - I was super nervous at first! But, Jen and Brian were absolutely amazing and put me at ease in no time.

HOW DID YOU FEEL AFTER YOUR SHOOT? I was so shocked at how incredibly breathtaking my pictures were.

WHAT WOULD YOU SAY TO SOMEONE WHO WAS ON THE FENCE ABOUT BOOKING THEIR OWN SESSION? Just do it! You deserve it. The high will last for sooooo long. It's been months and I still feel incredible about myself.

DID YOU HAVE ANY INSECURITIES OR WORRIES ABOUT DOING A SESSION THAT WE HELPED YOU GET OVER BEFORE/DURING/AFTER YOUR SESSION? I thought I was so fat and unattractive. But Jen and Brian were so supportive and funny that I felt amazing during my session and even more confident after I saw all of my gorgeous photos.

WHAT WOULD YOU SAY TO SOMEONE WHO WAS WORRIED ABOUT NOT LIKING ANY OF THEIR IMAGES AFTER THEIR SESSION? I didn't think there would be any pictures that I liked and I loved 99% of them. I had a hard time picking my favorites for the album.

WHAT WOULD YOU SAY TO SOMEONE WHO WAS HESITANT TO INVEST MONEY INTO A BOUDOIR EXPERIENCE? I don't regret one penny of my money spent. Not one! I love my pictures and the self-confidence I gained from it is priceless!

XOXO, Miss D

Trust me, after this experience, you'll feel like a million bucks. It's not just about the stunning images, it's about affirming your worth and feeling comfortable in your own skin. So, let's celebrate ourselves because we are all uniquely beautiful and deserving of it! If you are ready to schedule your own session, visit the CONTACT page and we will send you all the juicy info!