This article was originally written for and featured on my previous boudoir blog on briathompson.com. All photos featured were created by Femme Art Boudoir.

I love the idea that boudoir can be a transformative experience. An experience that allows people to walk out of the photographer’s studio with their heads held high and a new strut in their walk. I love the sexy poses that make you feel how you’d imagine a Victoria’s Secret model feels. And when I first began working as a boudoir photographer, I had this idea that when people meant transformation it was all about the hair, makeup, and lingerie. Well, then I realized it was way more than playing dress up for a day. Upon hearing stories from other photographers as well as my clients, I realized this was actually a life changing thing. I had this fantastic vision that once people stepped in front of my lens their pain and insecurities would fade and they would be bettered for the future— a somewhat cocky and misinformed belief.

At one point in time, I believed that a boudoir shoot was the solution to literally every situation and I didn’t quite understand why I got a lot of push back when I offered it to people experiencing discomfort, particularly discomfort surrounding their bodies and identity. I have to take a moment to call myself out for a second; You’ll find that on my website there is the phrase “Let me show you what other people see,” and another phrase “I will give you the confidence boost you need to start your journey of self-love,” And If I’m honest, a boudoir shoot is a bit more complex than that. Sure it may help with the self love journey, but something that I realized is that the journey really starts with you baking a cake and then eating it.

And the only way I can really explain what I mean is by giving you insight on how and why I ended up doing my own boudoir shoot.

Before I start, let me give you a fair warning that this blog post is probably going to be equivalent in length to a 4 page double spaced essay in MLA format. So get comfortable, because we are unpacking all my shit.

Last summer, I fell in love with a guy I have adored since grade school. I won’t get into the nitty gritty of our relationship out of respect for him and what we shared, but let's just say that love story didn’t end with a happily ever after. Instead it ended with a few broken hearts, lots of crying, and honestly, although it is hard to admit, a lost of identity.

I have always struggled with my femininity, especially as a black woman who never really had a dark skinned representation of a feminine woman growing up. Though my mother is the epitome of beautiful, she is a few shades lighter than I am. I struggled to feel dainty, beautiful, and like I was worthy of love and affection. The media often portrayed dark-skinned black women as undesirable, manly, and loud. And it seemed that the lighter you were the more beautiful you were. Now, a lot of people give a big “fuck you” to certain social constructs of femininity and what it looks like, and I agree with most of them. Even if they are the type of feminine that that I looked up to as a child, I don’t think femininity should only look like Anne Hathaway or Julie Andrews. Being a woman should not be defined only by genitals, or by how much or how little makeup you wear. But it's hard to feel like a young lady or a woman, when you’ve had people on multiple occasions call you “young man” because you wore no makeup and cornrows, and then your mother had to awkwardly insert “Oh, she’s a girl.”

Now, you’re thinking, “Yeah, girl, that sucks, but what does that have to do with that guy you fell in love with?”

Well, he has almost everything and almost nothing to do with it.

With him, I felt at my most feminine. Not to say that before him I wasn’t prancing around in my short, dainty sun dresses or skirts, it's just that with him it felt like less of a costume. Less like I was masquerading as a beautiful woman and that I was actually a beautiful woman. As someone who struggled to consistently feel this way throughout her life and was called “sir” or “young man” more than she was called “pretty” or “young lady” it was a breath of fresh air to realize that someone finally saw me as the woman I wanted to be treated as.

His and I relationship, was the first relationship that I had where I kicked off my shoes and started to make myself at home. I was his girlfriend but he gave me plenty of room to be myself; let me nerd out over marvel movies, accepted that I still read and write Twilight fanfiction, and trusted that my love of knife throwing wouldn’t land him in the hospital. Time spent with him often included having doors opened and closed for me, sweet kisses on the cheek, and being held like I was the most precious thing in the world. And when that relationship ended, when we needed to part ways and close that chapter of our lives, I no doubt found myself a little lost. I found myself without that space that I was beginning to call home.

Now, like I said, I am not going to spoon feed you some bullshit about how I did a boudoir session and it cured my broken heart. What I am going to tell you is more like why a boudoir session wouldn’t have helped in this situation; I needed to understand who I was as a person before I could even think about doing something as intimate as a boudoir shoot.

I needed to come to terms with the knowledge that someone I cared for would no longer be in my life. I had to begrudgingly accept that I am the kind of person who has to slowly wring out her pain until I am all dried out, which might mean tearing up at the thought of him 6 months post break up, and again when Facebook reminded me of the 1 year anniversary of our first date. You see, I wasn’t only mourning the relationship and the loss of someone who I used to call a good friend, I was also mourning the person I was while in that relationship. It would take some time to get through the post-breakup process.

This process of acceptance can only be done in one way… and that’s by making a post breakup cake.

This cake entails reading several self-help books. Late nights, early mornings, and midday 15 minute breaks dedicated to self-reflection. A handful of guilt trips, a sprinkle of self-pity (more accurately like two sticks of melted self-pity that was generously spread over all the ingredients), two spoons of “bitch this isn’t about you,” and after mixing all my post breakup ingredients into a bowl and pouring it into a nicely greased pan, I set it in the oven at 400 degrees.

After I baked my post breakup cake, I let it cool for 20 minutes (4 months). I was now left with a cake that needed frosting but was missing the main ingredient. I walked through the emotions that the cake needed in order to be complete, re-lived it so many times that I got sick of how many times I thought about it. But I was missing the final touch, and that was the thick layer of the sweetest part, the icing on the cake, which was the resolve to allow myself to move on and rediscover that beautiful, dainty, and feminine side of me.

The cake is finished and now I get to eat it. First, I taste the icing, the sweet reality of what this finished cake means. It means that by month 4 post breakup, I was diving into the boudoir world, learning about my sexuality, the sexuality of others, and the power behind this knowledge. This knowledge lead me to finding and accepting the many ways of being a woman and showed me that even though I did feel at my most feminine with my ex-boyfriend, it did not make him responsible for keeping that side of me alive. I learned that it is unfair to both him and to me to make him responsible for that. I found clarity in that my identity is mine to control and I made peace with the fact that I was not good for him at that time. After that sweet layer of resolve, I taste each ingredient in the cake itself, I am reminded of the tears spilled into the batter as I added the two sticks of self-pity, the handful of guilt trips, and the 4 tablespoons of heartbreak. I taste the 1 cup of powdery white granulated self-awareness, the deep dark syrup of compassion, and the sweet teaspoon of forgiveness. As I continue to eat this cake and relish in each and every flavor in each and every bite, I am able to propel myself forward, satisfied with the taste and resolution of that love story.

And that is when I booked my boudoir shoot.

I tell my friends, my mom, and my sister, and even the photographer I booked, that I was doing this all because I was graduating. And while that was partially true, I left out the fact that this was the last piece of the cake that I needed to swallow.

So, I got to wear lingerie, I got all dolled up, and I got a lot of shots of my favorite part of me (my booty).

But I wasn’t a Victoria Secret model, I wasn’t this extremely empowered badass, and I wasn’t leaving with a new strut in my walk.

Instead, I was your everyday 22 year-old that had the best/worst 15 months of her life, who fell in love, who got her heart broken for the first time, who got her degree, who launched her business, who met her baby niece, who celebrated birthdays, and who took her sister on sister dates to Dave and Busters. I was happy. And anxious. And depressed.

Why?

Because there was still more that I needed to work on, and more that I needed to come to terms with. But what this session did allow me to do was celebrate what I already worked on and that progress that I made. And while I didn’t walk out of my shoot feeling like some empowered badass Victoria Secret model, I did walk out feeling like I was going to be okay. Even though I didn’t think I would be, I was okay.

So no, my boudoir session didn’t cure me and you having one won’t cure you either. But in the recipe of healing it could be a pivotal moment for you, a moment where you can take time to realize that your head is finally above the water. It's that little dash of something, that secret ingredient, or that sweet icing on top that allows you to celebrate the person you are today.

I miss who I was 15 months ago, but when I look at this person now, this beautiful woman I am now, I am pretty damn proud of her. And though the process to be her was a painful one, I wouldn’t trade her for any other version.

So to wrap up my 40 page dissertation, I say all this to say, that while boudoir has the ability to be transformative and give an individual the avenue to see themselves in a new light, I think it is even more important to realize that it’s about celebrating who you are today. Celebrate those painful moments that you worked through to be this version of yourself.

So gather your ingredients first, bake your cake, and let it cool.

And when it’s time, we’ll add the frosting on top.