The Alien Girl

In these photos, I am, though still very shyly, learning to truly hold myself in front of another human being for the first time in my life.

I especially love the pictures with the green wall, which kind of looks like dirt. It’s amazing that the photoshoot wasn’t planned specifically for me, and I didn’t even see the location beforehand, but looking back, it seems like it was exactly what I needed. That’s why I love the saying that when something is meant to happen, it just happens, no matter who, and no matter what.  If it’s ours, it’s ours.

For me, the wall represents the “dirt,” the way I’ve always perceived myself because of so many things associated with my body and beyond, while the flower and me, touching and looking at it so lightly and carefully, represent true beauty, light, and love.

When I was a child, there were several experiences that shaped my perception of myself 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩🪞

One of the earliest and probably the most impactful situations involved my mom.

She once caught me touching myself when I was three years old. At the time, she was very religious and immediately thought it was wrong. She scolded me, told me it was shameful to do something like that, and made me promise that I would never do it again. Of course, I agreed, but somehow, instead of touching, I then started pressing my thighs together.

Needless to say that at that age, I didn’t associate it with anything sexual whatsoever—I didn’t even know what sex was until I was 12. It was just something that felt nice, like a sudden release. Nothing more.
Scientifically, this is now called syntribation and is quite common among both men and women, though at the time, neither of my parents knew that.

I would try doing it when I was alone in the room or when everyone was going to bed, since I didn’t want to upset my parents, but somehow my mom would still manage to walk in on me. She didn’t know what it was that I was doing or whether it was normal. With no one to consult, she was confused and scared, so she would yell at me, telling me I was harming myself and embarrassing myself, her, and everyone else. Again, she made me promise to stop, and again, I agreed. But somehow, even though I now felt like an incredible embarrassment to everybody, I couldn’t keep that promise.

Every night, I would try doing it, thinking she was asleep, but she would randomly come into my room to check. If she caught me, she’d look very upset, telling me I might be hurting badly in the future and how disappointed she was in me for breaking my promise.

Sometimes, other family members like my grandma or brother would also walk in on me, and then they would go to my parents about it. I was either told that I would be physically punished by my father or actually punished. It only ever happened a few times and was never harsh; my parents are not, and never have been, the kind of people who would ever truly hurt me in any such way! Still, these moments left a huge imprint on me.

Eventually, I learned to do it in such a way that no one would notice, and as I got older, my mom’s visits to my room stopped. I guess she thought I had stopped altogether and felt reassured. For me, though, this situation was the first time I started to feel like a massive liar, betraying my whole family and other people around us. Even though I would tell my mom I had stopped, when no one was watching, I would lock my door, and, thinking I’d probably burn in hell for what I was doing,  kept pressing my thighs together.

This is only Part One of the “My Body is MY Pleasure” series because I do not wish to make this article too long. However, I would like to point out that now, as a grown-up, I have talked to my parents about it, and I DO NOT blame them for anything that happened! Everyone’s story is different, and this is mine. My parents are also living this life for the first time, and I believe that all people not only have the right but also MUST make “mistakes” in order to learn from them. That’s how stories are made.

Without a doubt, our parents have an enormous and profound influence on us, and I believe that if we can’t learn to make peace with them, we’ll never be able to truly grow and allow ourselves to be who we really are—unabashed.

Otherwise, why else would we have come into this world, right?)

Ps: I am terrified of uploading this post right now. Quite literally, my hands are shaking, but I feel like this topic, which can generally be described as body shaming, needs more exposure and more conversations about it. I feel that we, as people, are often too afraid to discuss such things because we—like myself—often make ourselves believe that these stories, experiences, thoughts, and beliefs we have are unique to us. But deep down, though this story is highly personal and I am scared of putting it out into the world (being a highly secretive person even with close friends), I worry about judgment. I’m afraid that you will interpret this in a different way or judge me or my mom for what happened. That’s not my intention at all. I don’t want any pity; my mom is an INCREDIBLE PERSON, and one situation like this does not define either her or me. Of course, I leave you the freedom to think about and perceive the story however you’d like, but I want to ask you to be respectful and kind—just as I would be to you 🫂💗