She Doesn’t Live Here Anymore

A letter to the version of you who disappeared somewhere along the way.

You used to laugh without thinking about who was watching.

You used to wear what made you feel wild, not just what fit.

You used to take selfies for fun, not to document survival.

You were soft in ways that didn’t make you feel weak.

You had fire that didn’t feel like burnout.

You had dreams before they were replaced with tasks.

And now?

Now you quietly mourn the woman you used to be, in the smallest ways.

When your jeans don’t fit like they used to.

When your smile feels rehearsed.

When someone compliments you and you brush it off like it couldn’t possibly be true.

You didn’t mean to disappear.

You just got tired.

Of holding it together.

Of pretending to be “fine.”

Of trying to do it all while forgetting who “you” even is.

But here’s the thing:

She’s not gone. She’s just buried.

Under the expectations.

The guilt.

The chaos.

The grief.

The never-ending cycle of showing up for everyone but yourself.

I created this studio not for the version of you that has it all together.

I created it for the version of you that’s unraveling quietly and doesn’t know how to ask for something that’s hers.

Boudoir isn’t about sexy pictures.

It’s about proof.

That you still exist.

That your body is not the enemy.

That your reflection is allowed to feel like home again.

It’s not about confidence.

It’s about permission.

To take up space.

To feel beautiful.

To feel whole again—even if just for a moment.

Because maybe, just maybe…

If you see her in those images—

the one you lost—

you’ll remember that she never really left.

She just needed you to come find her.