That Day I Got Naked.

​I took my panties off at the front of the room. Behind me were my classmates – all 20 of them, men and women. 

In front of me was a massive mirror – maybe 8 feet tall by 4 feet wide. I knew the instructions: face the mirror, take my clothes off piece by piece, and say what I was thinking out loud.

It was an optional exercise.

A horror story.

I was one of the last to go. I’d watched my classmates come up to the mirror – all sexologists in my graduate school program in Human Sexuality. One by one, they walked up to The Mirror and disrobed.

Sometimes their voices shook. Sometimes they spoke evenly – “I like my chest, but my butt could be better”. Sometimes they broke down or stopped the exercise. Sometimes they just said, “No, I won’t.” 

We sat behind them bleacher-style listening and quietly observing. Bearing witness without comment.  Powerful. 

I dropped my panties onto the floor and stood naked. Just me. The critical voice screamed in my head. I spoke the words. My classmates sat quietly. The words of my inner critic floated out into the room. 

When I was finished, I stepped back into my panties, my bra, jeans, top, Birks. I walked back to my seat. The words I’d spoken hung in the air. Shaky and sweating, I felt lighter. 

When we went to lunch that day as a group, something had changed. The laughter was amazing. We saw each other with new eyes. Each of us had left something behind in that room. A little bit of the body shame. Some of the judgments. 

The walk over to Whole Foods was breezy. We loaded up with braised tofu with veggies and sat down at the tables outside. 

It was a tiny piece of freedom. But it made a huge difference.