On Self-Portraiture + Imagination

Written for Rikki Wright’s workshop on self-portraiture @ Soho House West Hollywood.

From the moment we exit the womb, we are inundated with stories about who we are. "Others" project their impressions onto us. At best, these impressions fill us with a sense of power, a strong identity. However, if we were born into tragedy or chaotic circumstances, chances are, we never developed a strong sense of self. Even the most peaceful deliveries send a shock to our nervous systems. Birth is our first experience of separation. We are abruptly cut from our umbilical cords, a startling severance.

 We grow to spend the rest of our lives seeking our sequestered selves. We yearn for the wholeness we once knew in the womb. Who am I? What makes me happy? How can I learn to love what is good for me? How do I know what is good for me? Why am I here? Why me?

 Our lives become a series of questions that seem to have no definite answers.

 One of the most important questions I have asked myself is not Who Am I? But rather, Who have I imagined myself to be? The impressions I received from others in my childhood became a sort of mental and emotional prison. I was a "good" girl. And while that may seem like an honorable role to play, “good” quickly becomes a cage, causing wild girls to further sequester themselves.

 I experienced a lot of heavy emotions as a child. My mother died when I was four. A severance. My father went to prison when I was 9. A severance.

 My emotions felt deep and dark, like an ocean I was drowning in but lacked the vocabulary to speak, or swim my way out. Because I was a "good" girl, I didn't dare bother my grandmother with the reality of my pain. I didn't make a sound. I put on a mask to maintain everyone's idea of who Monique was. But soon enough, my mask began to crack under pressure. I began receiving questions like "Is everything okay?" And I wanted to yell “Of course not!” But I smiled, and I lied, and I said “Yes.” I blamed myself for the pain I experienced as opposed to questioning my imagination. Had I imagined myself without the role of "good", I would have experienced these emotions as my natural, human state. But instead, they felt like a contradiction of who I believed myself to be.

 Paul Laurence Dunbar wrote:

 We wear the mask that grins and lies,

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—

Why should the world be over-wise,

In counting all our tears and sighs?

Nay, let them only see us, while

   We wear the mask.

How many of us have been taught to be good women? Good, meaning palatable. We have become master emotional contortionists. We have learned to swallow our gripes so as to not be difficult. We have learned to stay silent, stay small, play nice, don't be a bitch, don't be too loud, don't be too noticeable, don't be too sexy or too prudent. Don't be too much of anything. Just exist in a way that doesn't interrupt the existence of others.

 In this way, we dull our imaginations. In this way, we adopt the gaze of our families, companions, and colleagues and become a version of whoever we are needed to be. We never ask the question, Who am I imagining myself to be? And in failing to answer this, we give away our power.

 Our imagination is our womb. It is the place we can visit to find inspiration, to find nourishment, to find a new story. I realized I had been imagining myself to be a good girl, and I began taking stock of everything that entailed. One of the most egregious self attacks I adopted from this idea was having no sense of personal boundaries. I did whatever was expected of me and grew resentful of those took advantage of that.

 I began thinking of four year old Mo. The precious girl who loved herself. The girl who was outspoken and loud and loved to share her rawest self with her family. She taught me that it was better to be an honest girl than to be a good girl. And so, I imagined a new me. What did honest women do? They enforced boundaries, they expressed their needs, they said no when necessary, they celebrated themselves and they certainly did not bottle up their emotions for fear of being too much to handle.

 Honest women are powerful women because they know they can never drown in the ocean of themselves. They are constantly birthed from it.

 Whenever we are experiencing a rebirth, it feels a lot like dying. What is happening is that our idea of who we are is dissolving because it can no longer sustain us where we are headed. Our destinies call for us to expand our imaginations. Quite frankly, our destinies call for us to be bad bitches. Bitches who love themselves. Bitches who renounce the gaze of the world and take the mirror and the camera in their own hands to define themselves, for themselves.

 Free your mind of the projections of others. Look no further than your inner child for the truth of who you are. That wild, loud, unafraid muse will be the source of your strength if you allow her to be. Your imagination is the womb from which you are reborn daily. Everyday you have the opportunity to refine your self-image. You don't need a filter. You only need to answer two questions: Who am I imagining myself to be? How can she love herself more today than she did yesterday?

 When you continue to re-evaluate your answers, you'll soon see a new woman in your self-portraits. You'll see a woman who has salvaged all of her sequestered selves. You'll see a woman reborn in the ocean of her truth. You'll see a woman who has done away with masks and reclaimed the unobstructed flow of the divine feminine. You'll see the smirk of a woman who knows that she is an infinite source of light; both the moon that reflects, and the sun that projects. A woman who is wild and free.