There are few places more torturous to women than a fitting room stall.

Recently, along the path of my ever evolving quest for self-love and acceptance, I decided the dressing room was no longer going to be a battle ground of self-loathing comparison, degrading self-talk or abusive behavior towards myself.

I was preparing for a life changing photo shoot. Branding pics for my new business.  My smiling face would soon be plastered on business cards and splashed all over social media.  Most importantly, we were shooting head shots for the back cover of my debut book.

I wanted my fashion in the photos to be fierce and needed my attitude to match.

I am one of those people who have been putting off getting family photos made for years now.  Because I wanted to lose weight first.  In fact, I had gained weight since our last family photo session.

I was ashamed of my body.  Again.

I am also a picture person. If you follow my social media accounts, I love me some selfies and post pictures on the daily. But it’s a different sort of pressure when you are having professional photos done that will be hanging on the walls of your house for the next few decades. Or know the images are going to be used for an international campaign! Holy shit!

I knew my vibe while picking out these clothes had to match what I preach about in my upcoming book. Self-love. Less stress. Loving ourselves simply because we are badass beautiful women with amazing stories, worth, and sexy, curvy, REAL bodies.

So I pumped myself up on the way there. I played the type of music that made me feel like I was ready to record a music video.  Fergie’s “Glamorous” came on and I decided that was the theme of the day.  I was going to be Glamorous.

I sat in the parking lot and breathed in as many positive statements as I could conjure up.

I meditated.

I repeated ‘I Am’ affirmations aloud.

“I am beautiful.  I am healthy.  I am strong and fit.  I am glamorous.  I am loving myself so hard right now.  I am doing this for the greater good of women everywhere.  I am a bestselling author…”

I made a video for my friends and fans in #LeahsWritingLab asking for “fun fabulous fashion vibes” to be sent my way.

I imagined them in the dressing room with me, cheering me on.  Other warrior women loving themselves strong.

I walked in that store like Julia Roberts on her shopping spree in ‘Pretty Woman’.

I grabbed everything I saw that I even remotely liked and even things I would normally immediately discount, like a green and black floral one piece jumpsuit.

“You look fat and pregnant in jumpsuits!”  The mean girl voice in my head would usually say about trying on a one piece.

I’ll show her… I rocked that onesie up and down my dressing room runway and liked it!

I refused to allow a single negative thought pattern to penetrate my consciousness.

When the self-deprecating opinions tried to flare up as fact, I shut that shit down immediately.

“Nope, we’re not commenting on flabby arms today. Those are the arms that held your babies and can do CrossFit.  You’re arms are amazing.”

“Nope, you’re not wishing your lower gut would go away because hey…. Do you member that one time that same gut housed and grew three babies, including two at once!? Yay for you, Uterus! Great job.  That’s a pretty fucking fabulous stomach with scars and stretch marks. Thank you, Stomach!  I love you so much.”

“Nope, you’re not gonna sit there starring at your double chin and longing for your face to not be so full. Smile anyways! Your face and smile are always beautiful to me.”

I did not allow a single negative thought to take root and stay.  As soon as I found myself doing it again, out of habit, I replaced the unkind thoughts with something kind.  Each and every time I realized I was doing it again, back to love.  Simple.

I took pictures of every outfit I tried on, even the ones I did not like.  I sent the pics out in a group chat to my girlfriends.  Not for fake reinforcement, but simply so I didn’t feel so freaking alone in what often feels like a suffocating closet with the harsh florescent lights.

I didn’t need them to say things like,”Oh that looks great on you!” or “You’re so gorgeous.”

I just needed them to be there with me.

I kept my energy up throughout the afternoon by talking to strangers. Speaking my reality into existence.

“I am a writer.”

I told anyone in the store who struck up a conversation that I was shopping for a photo shoot because I’m releasing a book next month.

I let the sales clerk celebrate with me as she took my arm full of clothes and set me up in the big VIP dressing room with the three paneled mirror and plenty of room to twirl.

I tried on everything and did not allow myself to hate me at any point during the process.

I found the perfect outfits.

I bought a flowy floral beach kimono to wear on top of a heather gray T-shirt proclaiming “Dreamer” across the chest.

I chose a classy periwinkle reporter jacket with the lacey inlets.

Wearing it made me feel like some sort of bad ass combination of Superman, Lois Lane and Wonder Woman.  Yaaasssss.

I would have never even considered trying it on if I had not entered the store with such an open frame of mind.

A fuchsia blazer channeled my mentor, friend, and Life & Business Strategist Lanette Pottle.

This outfit declared “Business!  I mean business!”

And I am in business…the business of loving myself.

The business of accepting my body as it is and not hating a single centimeter of it.

Celebrating the beauty, strength, and uniqueness of me.

I slayed that photo shoot.