Me, Myself and I: Taking Up Space In My Own Body

I took myself on a date to the park because no one else was available… and because I’m finally in a place where “just me” is actually enough.

It was supposed to be simple...get out of the apartment, walk around the lake, breathe some non‑apartment air, maybe snag a couple Instacart orders if they popped-up. Nothing fancy, nothing optimized. Just me in my black coat, my sunglasses, and my imagination edging me.

Somewhere between “I’m just walking” and “wow, this light is really pretty through the trees,” I set my phone down, hit the timer, and started running. Run to the stump. Run to the bench. Run to the picnic table. No plan, no shot list, just… okay, stand here, sit there, lean on this rock, flip off the camera, why not.

Just trying to do tree pose on a stump

When I pulled the photos up later and stitched them together, it hit me. It looked like three different women hanging out.

Except they were all me.

There’s the version of me who’s playful and ridiculous, climbing on stumps and mid‑run, like she’s about to bolt into the next adventure. There’s the one who looks like she’s always talking, mid‑story, mid‑rant, hands going, narrating everything. And then there’s the quiet one, sitting on the log or staring out at the water, watching the other two and just… noticing.

Playful me. Storyteller me. Witness me. All in one frame.

I didn’t plan that. I wasn’t out there doing some deep therapeutic photo exercise. I was just a forty‑something with a timer app and a little bit of free time on a Monday. But

Storeyteller, silly and reflective

seeing them together did something to my brain.

Because my real life is a lot. Three kids. A full‑time job. A side hustle. Bills, meds, appointments, emails, groceries, all of it. And somehow, in the middle of that, I’ve carved out this tiny stubborn pocket of time where I walk around a lake alone and take weird pictures of myself.

And here’s the wild part...I actually feel happy. Not manic, not distracted, not pretending. Just… okay in my own company. Curious, even.

Those photos were proof.

Timer on. Screen down. All my versions in one frame.

Proof that I’m not just this little rectangle version of myself that lives on other people’s phones. So much of modern “connection” is just talking to floating heads on screens, and half the time it feels like you’re messaging some kind of polite chatbot with emojis. There are words and there are reactions, but it doesn’t always land in the body as real.

Standing there at the lake, with actual wind and actual mud on my shoes, I could feel the difference. This was real. This was me existing in a place, not just in a chat window. It made all the screen conversations I’ve had lately feel extra flat by comparison.

The other thread running through this week has been connection. I had this idea to start making postcards for people I care about; little handmade pieces of “I see you” that arrive in real mailboxes instead of just pinging in their notifications. I want to paint tiny slices of my world and send them out like beacons. You matter to me enough for ink and paper and a stamp, have an artful hug.

It’s the same energy as those photos, honestly. Me saying that I want real life. Real objects, real paper, real sky, real benches, real lakes. Real me!

My first one!

So that’s what this season feels like right now. Timer‑photos on solo walks. Postcard ideas sketched in my notes app. Letting all my different “selves” show up without apologizing...the playful one, the chatty one, the reflective one. Letting them sit next to each other on the bench and share the same body.

If you’ve read this far, here’s your little invitation. Take yourself on a tiny solo date. Set a timer. Take the dorky photo. Draw the bad sketch. Write the postcard you might never send. Let all your "versions" show up in one frame, even if you’re the only one who ever sees it.

And if you want to play along, tell me this in the comments!

What are your three “selves” that would show up in your photo?