The first time I truly saw myself, I was standing in front of a mirror.
Not in the usual hurried way—fixing my hair, checking my posture, making sure I looked presentable before rushing out the door. No, this time was different. I stood still. I really looked.
And what I saw surprised me.
It was shortly after I moved to Israel. My children no longer needed me to shuttle them from school to activities, and for the first time in decades, I had space—space to pause, space to breathe, space to notice myself.
For years, my life had been a blur of protein bars eaten in the car, Starbucks lattes grabbed between meetings, and back-to-back yoga classes squeezed into an already packed schedule. I was constantly moving, constantly doing. But in all that movement, I had never actually arrived.
And now, standing still, I asked myself a question I had avoided for years:
Do I even like my body?
Although I was strong and fit, I felt an unsettling absence—a missing softness, a lost sensuality, an unfamiliarity with my own skin. It wasn’t about weight or muscle tone; it was something deeper.
Had I spent so many years treating my body like a machine—something to fuel, to train, to discipline—that I had forgotten it was me?
Listening to My Body Through Movement
I turned to yoga, this time without mirrors, without the pressure to perform. I focused not on how I looked but on how my body felt. It was a shift—one that made me notice the subtle ways my body carried years of tension, of shrinking, of holding back.
But it wasn’t enough. I craved something more—a movement that wasn’t just structured, but fluid, raw, expressive.
So I explored.
I let myself be drawn to ecstatic dance, to the sensuality of tango, to the uninhibited joy of Zumba, and eventually, to the discipline of ballet. Each form of movement unlocked a different part of me, but ballet was transformative.
For the first time, I stood with intention—head high, shoulders back, feet firmly planted. And suddenly, I saw myself differently.
How many years had I curved inward to take up less space?
How often had I hunched forward to disappear into the background?
How deeply had I internalized the idea that to be small, to be quiet, to be contained, was to be acceptable?
Ballet taught me something I hadn’t realized I needed to learn: Reclaiming space is an act of self-respect.
Reflecting Through Journaling
Movement awakened something inside me, but it was journaling that helped me make sense of it all.
After every class, I sat with my Resilience Journal and let the words spill onto the page:
- Why did standing tall feel so vulnerable?
- What unspoken rules had I absorbed about femininity, about being seen, about inhabiting my own body?
- How had I defined beauty, and did I even believe in that definition?
Through the process of journaling, I uncovered stories about my body I hadn’t even realized I was carrying—stories inherited, stories imposed, stories I had never questioned.
I dialogued with body parts I had ignored.
I collaged images that reflected the kind of femininity I longed to embody.
I wrote letters to the version of me that had spent years seeking approval from standards that were never my own.
And in this process, I found something unexpected—a new way of seeing myself.
Turning the Lens on You
If you’ve ever felt disconnected from your body—if you’ve ever struggled with your relationship to femininity, masculinity, or simply being in your own skin—I invite you to explore.
Here are three journaling and creative practices to help you reconnect with yourself:
Exercise 1: Write a Letter to Your Body
Find a quiet space, close your eyes, and take a few deep breaths. Then, open your journal and write:
“Dear body, I’m listening.”
Let the words flow without judgment. What does your body need to tell you? What have you ignored? What have you thanked it for? What do you still need to heal?
Exercise 2: Create Your Feminine (or Masculine) Symbol
Using any art supplies you have, create a symbol that represents femininity or masculinity to you. It can be abstract, symbolic, or entirely unique.
Afterward, reflect in your journal:
- What does this symbol represent?
- How does it relate to your identity?
- How does it challenge or reinforce what you were taught?
Exercise 3: Map Your Body’s Storyline
Draw a timeline of your relationship with your body. Start with your earliest memory—positive or painful—and mark key moments that shaped how you see yourself today.
Reflect:
- What patterns emerge?
- Where do you still hold pain?
- What part of your body’s story do you want to rewrite?
Rediscovering Yourself
This journey is not about achieving the “perfect” body or conforming to an ideal. It’s about ownership—about reclaiming the relationship you have with yourself and defining beauty on your own terms.
Journaling and movement offer us a way back to ourselves. They allow us to listen, to honor, to express. And ultimately, they give us permission to be fully and unapologetically who we are.
So I invite you—stand tall. Move with intention. Pick up a journal. Listen to your body’s story.
Because true femininity isn’t about fitting into a mold—it’s about owning your space, your body, your story.
And that is where the real transformation begins.
