My best friend has launched her incredible passion project: Divine Chaos Movement, and with it, encouraging us to read THE BODY IS NOT AN APOLOGY by Sonya Renee Taylor, and to share our own stories of radical self-love. So, this is mine - from a bodacious babe posed in her birthday suit with her adoring/slightly-confused-at-why-mama’s-naked-on-the-floor pup and favourite fake flowers in tow!

Why nude? Nudity connotes much more than sexuality, it’s such a beautiful example and metaphor for freedom. And what is more important than freedom? Freedom in expression, freedom in ideas (though, excluding hateful rhetoric!), freedom in movement, from dancing to crossing borders - and freedom to love yourself, uniquely and completely as you are.

Emotionally, my radical self-love applies to my pride in surviving my mental illness. How could I not be proud of the strength it takes to battle my own mind every single day, even in my dreams? The majority of the time, at least at this moment, I am victorious in my efforts.

I have no shame in taking my medication. I am very grateful for having the privilege of having this extra help to regulate a chaotic mind, without which, exhausted me to the point of lacking basic motor skills. I respect those that prefer holistic approaches to mental illness as everyone should cope with their mind as they wish, though ideally with help and resources if needed to help make informed choices.

My radical self-love also applies to the physical manifestations of my mental illness: the scars that decorate my skin, especially on my breasts that I now refer to as my “polka dots.”

I also love my scarred, skinned knees, from the multitude of times I’ve tripped over my own feet due to ankle and knee ailments, twisting and landing in gravel despite the assistance of orthopedic trainers I’ve been wearing daily since I was a teenager. I’ve loved myself for getting through excruciating pain that (male) doctors dismissed since I was 12 years old. Writhing in pain, having to stay home from school or work on especially bad days, endometriosis is a cruel condition that only in the past year, a (female) doctor has acknowledged, and helped me with. I used to feel sorry for myself on those especially bad days, but then I realised how badass and strong my body was for having such a high pain thresh-hold.

My body tends to fluctuate in weight depending on how much dance or exercise I’ve been doing, and how many donuts I’ve been treating myself to. It’s always bothered me when people have “complimented” me when I look slimmer than usual. I used to say “thank you,” but now I just smile and change the subject. I’m not looking forward to the day my jawline and collarbone make a reappearance and the “compliments” start again. If you’re reading this, please, think of another conversation topic and extend this suggestion to others when you notice them losing their own lockdown weight.

It’s no secret that the entertainment industry especially, has unrealistic beauty standards. When dancing, sometimes I was too curvy to be petite or too small to be plus size. I was often told I would be the “perfect” size if I would just *insert fitness and nutrition regime here* though I already felt perfect. While I obviously think fitness and nutrition are important, I’m a firm believer that it should not be the main asset in anyone’s life. This opinion also applies to how I feel about romantic partnerships, as radical self-love, especially for me, signifies the freedom in autonomy.

As I approach my thirties, I’ve been disappointed by the number of cliché questions or suggestions towards traditional “settling down” motifs, no matter how "progressive" societies stretch. I don’t feel distaste towards those who want or have partners and children, but I wish that this lifestyle wasn’t universally viewed as an end-goal, or aren’t the kids saying “endgame?” (I only liked that word when it pertained to the Avengers).

It’s preached in subtle and not-so-subtle media that happiness depends on being a part of a whole, but why does “whole” have to be romantic?

Why not a whole orgy? (kidding, but also not kidding). Why not a whole collective of people with a common goal? Why not a whole group of close friends? There are infinite ways to be whole, with or without romance. I look forward to a time when genuine self-love is not misconstrued as self-care, such as cancelling plans or treating yourself to a bubble bath. I look forward to a time when valuing one’s autonomy is encouraged, not just as a prelude. I am not opposed to the idea of having a partner as I’ve had partners in the past, but I’ve never felt an incessant need to have someone by my side (with the exception of my little pug, Ruby). I’ve only ever fallen in love by accident, which I’m aware may happen in the future, but I will never “look” for love. I’ve always thrived in my independence, and would genuinely feel fulfilled if I spent my life this way. It’s OK to want and have sexual connections without an underlying desire for progression, it’s OK to miss specific people but not want to be romantically linked, it’s OK to change and grow and evolve. And whenever I’ve had a fleeting lonely thought or an aura that sits with me for a little while, these feelings have never, and will never, outweigh my eternal, radical self-love.

Send @divinechaosmovement what radical self-love means to you - share your stories!!

-Sarah