Everything I learnt when I posed naked at 49

Being naked is surprisingly liberating

Stepping out of my robe was probably the most vulnerable and exposed I have ever felt. But possibly, also the most authentic – although not quite authentic enough to want to expose myself to anyone I might see again (I made sure the studio was at least half an hour from my house). Yet without the back-up of clothing, underwire and elastic, I could be nothing but my true physical self – and do nothing but own it. The same goes for ageing.

Choosing to be seen is empowering

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Like a multitude of women, I have compared myself with images in the media and frequently found I don’t measure up. A feeling that has been reinforced by a few delightful individuals throughout my life. In my 20s, one sort-of-boyfriend once told me: “you have to be tall to be beautiful”. I’m 161 cm. Another time, I asked a friend where she’d got her skirt from, and some random bloke remarked, “do you really have the legs for it?” Clearly, I should have just punched him where it hurt. But still, revealing the parts of myself I usually feel compelled to keep covered up felt hugely empowering.

I didn’t feel objectified

Not having modelled before, one of my main concerns (other than recognising someone in the class) was that I wouldn’t be up to the job, and instead of striking a pose, I’d just freeze on the spot. Fortunately, it was only my feet that froze (socks would have been nice). But although I was subject to intense scrutiny, I didn’t feel objectified or sexualised. I was simply being sketched by a group of people who liked to draw. I could just as easily have been a pineapple or pair of sandals.

It was the closest I’ve come to an out-of-body experience

At the start of the evening, I felt ridiculously awkward. A bit like one of those anxiety dreams where you’re in a meeting, then realise you’ve forgotten to put your clothes on. Except this wasn’t a dream; I really was naked – in front of people. But since running away would have been even more embarrassing than pretending I was cool with it, I stayed, while studiously avoiding eye contact. Slowly though, the weirdness was replaced by an almost surreal sense of calm. It was as if in placing my body on display for others, I was able to step away from it, and all my feelings surrounding it. A kind of (art) therapy.

Every body is a work of art

Afterwards, when I looked at the artwork, I didn’t see the midlife, past-its-prime body I usually see. I saw the simple beauty of the human form; kindly drawn shadows and curves; a body I have never seen when looking in the mirror. And I liked it.

My body is changing, but that’s OK

Mum-boobs, stretch marks, saggy stomach; the collateral damage of pregnancy, child-rearing and, well, midlife. Seeing it on paper was a reminder that I can’t prevent these changes, but I can embrace them and be grateful for a functioning body.

My kids will always think I’m weird

Somewhat predictably, the reactions of my three children (aged 10, 13 and 16) ranged from: “Are you going to wax?” to “that’s sooooo gross!” to “what if my friends find out?” Pushing my kids’ boundaries though can only be a good thing. And it makes a change from telling my daughter to pull her school skirt down so it actually covers her buttocks. And repeat. Oh, and nudity pays. It’s not quite OnlyFans but I made $75, and would definitely do it again.

The Telegraph

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