Enough

For years, I stood in front of cameras, twisting, tilting, posing, hoping to capture the version of myself that would finally feel like enough.

But every photo whispered otherwise.
Not skinny enough.
Not tall enough.
Not beautiful enough.

The lens became my mirror, reflecting a collection of flaws I hadn’t noticed before, until they were magnified under the weight of comparison.
The industry demanded perfection.
I demanded perfection.
And yet, perfection never felt like enough.

Then there was the mirror.
The mirror was harsher than the lens.
No flattering angles.
No filters.
Just my reflection staring back, raw and unedited.
Every line felt too deep.
Every curve, too soft.
Every piece of me seemed like it didn’t belong.
The mirror became a battle I fought daily,
And each glance was a reminder that I wasn’t enough.

I measured myself against impossible standards, carving out pieces of my spirit to fit into frames that weren’t built for me.
I chased the enough others wanted to see—
In angles.
In edits.
In silence.

But something shifted, slowly, quietly.
I stopped asking what others saw in me and began to ask myself:
What if I’m already enough?

The lines I once traced with criticism began to feel softer, more forgiving.
The curves I used to hide started to feel powerful, uniquely mine.
The scars I once saw as blemishes revealed themselves as maps of where I’ve been,
Reminders of strength,
Proof that I am enough.

And then one day, I looked in the mirror again—
The same mirror I once avoided,
The same mirror I once feared.
And for the first time, I didn’t see flaws.
I saw beauty.
Not perfect beauty, but real beauty.
The kind that lives in every stretch, every fold, every mark.
I saw a body that had carried me through years of self-doubt,
A body that was mine.
And I realized that I had always been enough.

Enough to live in this body without shame.
Enough to claim beauty without comparison.
Enough to hold space for imperfection and grace.

I realized that my body, as it is, is a work of art—
Not because it fits a mold,
But because it doesn’t.
It is my story,
My home,
My enough.

Today, I look at photos and see more than shapes and shadows.
I see resilience.
I see growth.
I see a woman who is, and always has been, enough.

In this body.
In this moment.
We are enough.

Photo by Paul Ballard, 2018.