I Canceled My Boudoir Photoshoot at the Last Minute

Searching for motivation after trauma

I’ve always wanted to do a boudoir photoshoot. I find them to be empowering for women — not to mention a truly beautiful artform.

I love photos that show off the beauty and sexuality of women of every shape and size. And I especially love lingerie fashion.

About a month ago, I came across a social media ad for a company called All Things Boudoir. It was founded by one woman in Colorado, who eventually scaled her business until it had national reach in cities across the country.

The website was informative, beautiful, and professional, and there were sessions available in my city.

Seeing as my marriage was in the shitter and I was newly separated from my husband, I was in a mood to finally get out there and start making my dreams come true. So I put down the very reasonable (and non-refundable) deposit payment of $100 and booked a session for three weeks later.

That night, I sifted through sample after sample of photos available on the company's website and private Facebook group, and I loved what I saw. There were women of all ages and body types. Each photographer is professionally trained to help you pose during your photoshoot, and it showed.

Best of all, I loved how All Things Boudoir (ATB) recruited female photographers only. I’m a huge fan of supporting women in business, and I knew I’d be comfortable going by myself to the modern and elegant downtown hotel room that would be the backdrop for my photos.

I was excited and already planning looks.

It would be a fun, sexy, and liberating adventure for both my body and my mind. It would be empowering and remind me that yes, I am still a strong woman. I am still a sensual and sexual being.

I was ready to start getting my groove back — something that had been lost for a long, long time.

Finding — and losing — my mojo

The night before the big shoot found me sitting cross-legged on my living room rug, a Lifetime movie streaming on the telly, and a glass of bubbly pink wine near my knee as I dutifully laced ribbon up the back of a stunning black corset.

A lot of the examples of boudoir shoots I found online showed women who opted for a more modern look, but I knew I wanted mine to be all vintage stockings, garter belts, corsets, and buckled high-heels.

I’d planned carefully for lace, pearls, and curls. I was also thinking ahead, taking mental notes for an article I wanted to write about my experience. I wanted to publish it with a few of the best photos from my session. The theme of the piece would be confidence, sexuality, and easing depression by getting out there and doing the things you’ve always wanted to do.

I was hyped and feeling the creative juices flowing — at least at the beginning of the night.

After lacing up the corset and struggling for twenty minutes to get all ten tiny clasps hooked up the front, I looked at my image in the mirror. It could have been perfect — if the bust line didn’t balloon out and away from my breasts, leaving a huge gap where my ample bosom should have been.

The waistline fit perfectly and gave me that curvy hourglass figure. But the heart-shaped bustline was basically non-existent. I’m a D cup, but my girls still couldn’t fill out the top. There were just hanging free, with an inch or two of empty space between skin and corset.

I spent two hours re-lacing the ribbon three different ways, trying to tighten the bust, but that didn’t work either. I shimmied and struggled and tried it on again and readjusted. I paced the living room naked, save for a garter belt and stockings, wondering if safety pins might help.

But my talent as a seamstress is non-existent, I thought, taking a sip of wine. My real talent lies in drinking.

That damn corset triggered something in me. I fretted on the couch with my wine for another hour or so, then, at around 2 a.m., I emailed the company to cancel my photoshoot that was supposed to take place 12 hours later.

I was out a hundred bucks and feeling guilty for wasting that hardworking photographer’s precious time. I felt like a failure. At the same time, I also felt relieved that I wouldn’t have to leave the house the next day. It had been getting harder and harder for me just to get out the door lately.

I was becoming a comfortable hermit, wrapped in her cocoon of sedentary depression. It was cozier to stay enveloped in my protected chrysalis, and there seemed little I could do to help it. Not at the moment, at least.

Anxiety and depression — killer of dreams

The infamous corset was the clichéd straw that broke the camel’s back. Just another piece of crap tossed onto the huge pile of a crap sandwich I’d been making all week.

Before the corset, I’d been doing my best to put together at least one or two other looks. ATB suggested two to four looks, and I decided early on to aim for at least two. I didn’t want to set overly ambitious goals on top of all the stress I had going on, so I wanted to make it as easy as I could.

As pieces I bought online started to come in, I realized that nothing about this was going to be easy, and I started to wonder why anyone would ever want to pose in front of a camera for fun.

Two of the pink satin negligees I’d ordered didn’t fit, but the third sort of fit. It fit my chest anyway, but was too tight on my tummy.

This is always an issue for me when trying to find clothes that fit. I went through a hefty weight gain a few years ago, most of it in my stomach, so a lot of the tops that fit my belly don’t fit my chest and shoulders. If I go with a top that does fit my chest and arms, then the midsection is usually too tight and ends up looking like a sausage casing.

I’m between a woman’s size 12 and 14. Right in between. A 12 is a little too snug, and 14 is a little too frumpy. I’m a true 13 right now, but they don’t make those. I don’t feel confident or comfortable in most of the clothes I wear.

That’s okay, I told myself. The photographers at ATB were professionally trained to pose women of all shapes and sizes and photograph them from all the right angles. I had faith we could work something out with the tight pink negligee, maybe in a sexy sitting position or from the waist up.

The black and neutral garter belts I’d ordered were also a little too tight, as their sizing ran smaller than I’d expected.

That’s okay, I told myself. I just need them to hold up the stockings. We could do some cute poses showing the lace of the stockings and the garter buckles, but we didn’t need to go into photographing the actual belt that wrapped around my waist.

I’d also gone shoe shopping the day before the infamous corset incident, but I hadn’t been able to find the color or style I wanted.

That’s okay…I told myself. I’d just pick from the few older pairs of heels that I already had — they were still in good enough shape, even if they aren’t what I had initially envisioned.

The corset, which arrived the day before the shoot due to my procrastination (a close personal friend of anxiety and depression), just broke me. At various points throughout the night, I went from hopeful, to hesitant, to canceling.

It wasn’t okay anymore.

It wasn’t because my body issues were getting to me. Though I had no shortage of those, I had no qualms about proudly sharing my curves with the world — in a style of lingerie that fit properly, at least.

No, my nerves were a mess because I was overwhelmed with working full-time, raising a teenager, and experiencing a major relationship trauma with a man I’d been with and trusted for 12 years. We’d started therapy together by that point, which has been rough and taking up tons of my mental and emotional strength every week.

When you’re dealing with constant anxiety and depression, whether it’s due to a chemical imbalance or as a result of trauma (or, in my case, both), it often becomes far more appealing to curl into a ball under the blankets and hide away from the world than to venture into it and do the things you love.

It can be a real dream killer, but as much as I hate to miss out, I also have to be kind to myself and remember that this is a challenge I struggle with — not something that’s my fault.

I didn’t ask for this, but I am up against it.

Be gentle with yourself

It’s a balance. Our depression and anxiety may get the best of us some days. We might need to cancel outings or skip the big plans we’ve made, and that’s okay. All we can do is let ourselves recover and move on to try again another time.

Even though I’ve been secluded and not very social or active lately, this photoshoot was still a major mental and physical undertaking for me. I tried to get it together, but things just didn’t work out.

I could have remained steadfast and determined and went to the shoot anyway. My slot was already paid for, and I’m sure the photographer would have been understanding of my situation. I’m sure she works with women who struggled to find clothes that fit all the time and could do all kinds of magic with poses and positions and angles.

But I canceled instead, and I’m going to be gentle with myself about it. I won’t beat myself up (too much) about wasting money that could have gone to bills, debt, or groceries. I am, however, going to let myself heal in this crazy and emotional time in my life, and I’m going to learn from it.

I still want to do a boudoir photoshoot. I want to rebook it. But I know now that next time, I’ll give myself all the time I need to get my looks ready. Then I’ll book the appointment when I have everything ready to go.

Working to give myself a fun gift like a sexy two-hour professional photoshoot is not going to work for me when I’m under the pressure of a due date, I’ve come to realize.

So I learn. I pivot and adjust. And I keep moving forward, searching for my mojo.

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