"I am a beautiful thing."

or how I learned to love my forty-something body by posting nudes on the internet

The following was written by writer, mother, widow, camgirl and friend, Laura Hoenack — a woman I admire, respect and love with my whole heart. Thank you for sharing your truth here, Laura and for doing so without apology. You inspire the shit out of me.

In a hilarious scene from Schitt’s Creek, Moira Rose, a woman of advanced age, resolutely declares in a memorable scene, “Take a THOUSAND naked pictures of yourself, now! You may currently think, ‘ooh, I’m too spooky’ or, ‘nobody wants to see these tiny boobies.’ But believe me, one day you will look at those photos with much kinder eyes and say, ‘Dear God, I was a beautiful thing.’” In the punchline, she comes back to deliver, “and make sure you submit those photos to the internet! Otherwise, your own children will go looking for them one day and tragically, they won’t be there.”

She’s speaking to a younger and very skeptical Stevie, in a plot that revolves around Moira’s nudes from decades ago being leaked online. She asks her adult children to search for them. It’s funny for many reasons, namely that that’s a terrible thing to ask one’s children. Wouldn’t it be a nightmare if your kids saw your racy photos? Isn’t that everybody’s secret nightmare? What if your children see? What if someone you know sees? What if EVERYBODY sees?

It wasn’t until my 40’s that I discovered the joys of taking naked pictures of myself, and lo and behold, it’s also the age at which I discovered radical self-love and acceptance. My confidence is at its peak, and I’m no longer ashamed of the saggy skin and stretch marked hips that plagued me as a younger woman. Now I’m proud of the body I’m in, of what it’s carried me through, of how it looks and more importantly, of how it feels. I used to dream of being able to save up enough for a tummy tuck and other procedures to change myself. Now I confidently show my stretch marks and happily wear bikinis in public. I love my body and I’m delighted to have a photographic archive of it.

Taking nudes is self care. First, I book a hotel (a bargain one will do, but a luxury one is nice). It’s a blank canvas, the light is always perfect and diffused through the big windows, the sheets and pillows are starched white, the linens and carpet are perfectly neutral. I bring my speaker and pick a favorite playlist. I take a long bath or a very extended shower. In a hotel, the hot water never runs out. I fix my hair and my makeup while dancing and singing to my favorite songs. I choose comfortable lingerie that I feel good in - ideally with a matching robe. I prop my phone against the tv or the alarm clock or a lamp, and I position myself facing it. 

I use a remote held in my hand to click the camera while I get comfortable, undressing slowly for my unseen audience and eventually pleasuring myself while the camera clicks. The result is sets of photos and videos that are erotic and fun, playful and pleasurable. Most often, the comments I get online are that I “look like I’m enjoying” myself.

I am.

It was not always this way. I’ve gone through the nightmare of having everybody see me with my pants down online. After my husband’s death by suicide in 2022, I briefly went viral for “faking” his death to sell my content. After I got shared and spread via reddit and knowyourmeme, people I knew professionally and personally got a glimpse into what I like to do in my free time.

But that wasn’t my first taste of what happens when someone sees your dirty side online. The first time was in 2018, when my conservative, Catholic family stumbled onto my content. Their reaction was far worse than I could have imagined, and involved me explaining to my 70 year old mother what a camgirl is and trying not to die of shame. I was cut off from my family and nephews for 18 months, while I shut down most of my accounts and tried to reassure those most hurt by this new knowledge of me that selling content does not make me a villain.

So what happens when everybody sees you naked?

You live through it. You learn that it’s uncomfortable, yes, but things that are embarrassing can be empowering. You listen to people in your life toss words at you like “shameful” and “disgusting” and you learn to hold your head high. You grow.

You may feel ashamed, and then question where that shame came from. Is it yours? Did it come from you or did you learn it from childhood, from your parents, your religion, your upbringing, or maybe your older sister? Is shame universal? Does everyone feel shame about the same things? Where does it come from? Do you need to continue to carry it on your shoulders, or can you lay that shame down and walk away?

All of the advice will tell you that if you’re going to sell content of a sexual nature, do so with as much anonymity as you can. Create an alias, lock down your personal accounts, turn off location tagging on your phone, do your best to keep your dirty side as separate from your real self as possible. While that’s sound advice, anyone who has ever taken pictures in the buff and wondered “should I post this?” knows that it’s not foolproof. Sometimes the worst happens.

Letting go of shame and owning the person that I am without flinching has been the most transformative experience of my life. I went from hiding myself and my wild side, covering up in public and hating my body, posting online in secret and being terrified people in my life might find out, to being someone I feel proud of. 

I know who I am and I take pride in what I’ve accomplished, both with and without my clothes on. The loudest critics, the ones who shout from the rooftops how shameful my behavior is are the ones who remind me to love myself the most. Because in this day in age, are we really still mad about someone posing naked on the internet? Surviving the discomfort of coworkers seeing me nude has shown me the truth I needed to learn: other people’s opinions have nothing to do with me. I cannot control what anyone thinks of me, and my life and my mental health are so much better when I stopped trying.

I have learned to treat myself with grace. Because when the worst happened and I got my dirty laundry spread all over the front page of the internet, the real ones in my life did the opposite of what I had feared: they loved me anyway. They learned about my wild side and didn’t care. They laughed with me and helped me see that I had nothing to be ashamed of, that I can be and do whatever I want, that it’s not up to anybody but me. 

When I look at the nude pictures and videos I have amassed over the last 7 years, I’m amazed. I see how my body changes from squishy to toned and back again. I see my stretch marks and back rolls, I note the gray hairs framing my face. I watch my tan lines come and go and the wrinkles on my face deepen. 

More than anything, I see how much fun I’m having. Alone with my clicking camera, I’m in complete control. Secluded in hotels, I feel safe. Bold. Brave enough to bare it all. Through the lens of my camera, I am surprised to find someone I could never see in the mirror: a person that is worthy and beautiful and radiant, not despite her flaws, but because of them. I understand I would not be me without the squishy back rolls and crepey skin. My squinty eyes and one crooked tooth are not flaws, they’re part of a whole person that I love. Those things that I used to judge so harshly are actually what makes me beautiful. Through self-photography, I learned to stop hating the parts of me that make me unique. 

I hope to one day reach Moira’s age and have the privilege to look back on a lifetime lived with confidence and self love. I know that as I age, my body will change, but I no longer feel afraid. I love my body and all the shapes that it has taken and will take. I spent years struggling to finally understand: I don’t have to love all the parts of myself to love myself, and the things I perceive as flaws will vanish when I look back with older and kinder eyes. 

Taking thousands of naked pictures of myself has shown me that beauty will never be just skin deep. The camera has helped me reframe my flaws as beautiful, while letting go of shame once and for all. Surviving the nightmare of everyone finding out I like to get naked on the internet guided me to the truth I needed to find: there was never anything to be ashamed of in the first place. 

Laura is the author of the substack, Lulubeans — so please show her some love by supporting her there! You can also follow her on twitter, here, and Instagram here. I love you, Laura! And thank you. <3