For my 36th birthday party, I got naked in front of a camera.

I dont remember when I learned to hate my body, and I dont remember when I committed to becoming friends with this skin and these bones of mine, but I know one happened much too early and the other came much later than it should have.

In between came a slew of poor decisions, just as many triumphs, two amazing humans born to my partner and me and many, many efforts to see my body as strong and beautiful.

In the past two or three years, Ive made a commitment to treating my body with the same compassion I show my very closest friends: I see flaws and love it still, knowing were in it for the long haul. This is where the idea for a body-positive boudoir session started.

I wasnt looking to a photo shoot for a personal transformation more to mark a stage in life when I am feeling mostly good about myself, moving closer to reclaiming my confidence post-babies and reaching the tipping point to middle-aged. Why not do it all in some lace and a great red lipstick?

I need you to see what Im seeing.

As Nicole and Athena, the boudoir photographers, scoped out my house, set up their photography equipment and situated me in a sunny spot in my bedroom, I was sipping tequila and getting past the awkwardness of sitting in front of two insanely badass women in my underwear. Then one of them paused and did something incredible: She flipped her camera and showed me the shot shed just captured.

I need you to see what Im seeing.

A photo of myself, laying in sunshine and shadows, stretched out on my bedroom floor, not unlike how one might find me stretching underneath the sheets. Somehow, it was art, and it was me.