06/05/2026
Hey Dolls,
Let's get real for a minute.
This might be a love letter to you.
It might also be a love letter to myself.
Either way, I hope you stay until the end.
For most of my life, I was tiny. Five foot two. One hundred pounds soaking wet. The girl who could eat whatever she wanted and never think twice about it.
Then one day, it felt like my body stopped following the rules I had always known.
100 became 120.
120 became 140.
140 became 160.
Then I turned 40 and somehow 160 became 180 in what felt like the blink of an eye.
And if I'm being completely honest?
I hated myself for it.
I avoided mirrors.
I weighed myself obsessively.
I skipped meals.
I picked apart every photo.
I watched the number climb anyway.
The hardest part to admit is that before all of this, I didn't understand bigger bodies.
I wasn't cruel, but I was ignorant.
I would think things like, "Why don't they just lose the weight?"
"Why is it so hard?"
"Why would she wear that?"
Looking back now, I cringe.
Because life has a funny way of teaching us the lessons we never knew we needed.
What most people didn't see was what my body had already survived.
A year and a half ago, I was nearly bedridden.
Not tired.
Not struggling.
Bedridden.
After more than ten surgeries in ten years, endless doctors appointments, chronic illness, chronic pain, and cancer, I had reached a point where I genuinely believed my life was over.
I had mourned myself before I was even gone.
I grieved the woman I used to be.
The woman who could move freely.
The woman who wasn't in pain.
The woman I thought I'd never get back.
Then something unexpected happened.
My doctor suggested yoga.
Not because it would cure me.
Not because it would magically fix everything.
But because maybe it would help me reconnect with my body.
And it did.
Not all at once.
Not perfectly.
But slowly.
I started finding pieces of myself again.
Then I found community.
Then I found dance.
Then I found burlesque.
And for the first time in a very long time, I didn't just feel alive.
I felt sexy.
I felt powerful.
I felt like me.
The stage became magic.
But here's the thing about magic.
Eventually the show ends.
The lights go down.
The costumes come off.
And you're left alone with your reflection.
I remember looking through performance photos and feeling devastated.
All I could see was my size standing next to these beautiful women.
When our next show came around, I was more worried about how people would judge my body than how I would perform.
Read that again.
I was more concerned about taking up space than celebrating the fact that I had fought like hell just to be there.
Then one day something clicked.
I stopped looking at my body as something that had failed me.
I started looking at it as proof.
Proof that I survived.
Proof that I beat cancer while carrying a child.
Proof that I endured surgery after surgery.
Proof that I got back up every single time life knocked me down.
Proof that I carried and birthed two incredible children.
Proof that I am still here.
Still standing.
Still dancing.
Still living.
This body has scars.
This body has curves.
This body has gained weight.
This body has limitations.
But this body has also carried me through things that should have broken me.
And suddenly, every scar became a badge of honor.
Every stretch mark became evidence.
Every pound became part of my story.
For the first time, I stood in front of a mirror and truly looked at myself.
Not with judgment.
Not with shame.
With gratitude.
And you know what I saw?
I saw a woman.
A beautiful, resilient, powerful woman.
I saw someone worthy of love exactly as she is.
I saw someone who spent years fighting a war inside her own body and somehow still found a way to dance.
That day changed everything.
Because beauty isn't found in a number on a scale.
It isn't found in a clothing size.
It isn't found in fitting into someone else's definition of desirable.
Beauty is resilience.
Beauty is survival.
Beauty is refusing to disappear.
Beauty is showing up exactly as you are.
I've had people say, "What happened? You used to be so hot."
Excuse me?
Hot?
My body has survived things you couldn't imagine.
My body has carried life.
My body has fought for life.
My body continues to fight every single day.
If that's not beautiful, I don't know what is.
To every person who has loved me exactly as I am, thank you.
You helped me see what I couldn't see for myself.
And to every woman reading this who struggles when she looks in the mirror...
I see you.
To the woman who feels too big.
Too small.
Too old.
Too broken.
Too much.
Or somehow never enough.
I see you.
And I want you to know something.
You do not have to earn your worth.
You do not have to shrink yourself to deserve love.
You do not have to become someone else before you are allowed to take up space.
You are already worthy.
Right now.
Exactly as you are.
That is one of the greatest gifts I've found through The Velvet Rebellion Collective.
Not perfection.
Not performance.
Not validation.
Sisterhood.
A place where women are learning to love themselves loudly, unapologetically, and without conditions.
A place where we remind each other that confidence isn't about having the perfect body.
It's about finally believing your body was never the problem.
If you've lost your spark, come find it with us.
If you've forgotten who you are, come remember.
If you've spent years believing you aren't enough, let us show you otherwise.
Because the truth is...
You have been enough all along.
With love,
Jay
One of the ladies of TVRC 💋
📷: Chuck Ferguson
