Introduction: A Mirror, Not a Mask

First things first: boudoir is not for your man. It’s not some lingerie-wrapped bribe for his birthday, anniversary, or because he finally fixed the leaky sink after six months of “getting around to it.”

Nope.

Boudoir is for you.

I can’t tell you how many women sneak into my studio like they’re committing a felony and whisper, “This is a surprise for my husband…” And I smile, because sure…let him enjoy the photos. Let him plaster one on a coffee mug. Let him wear your face on a hoodie to Costco. I don’t care. But somewhere between the lashes and the lingerie, I promise you’re going to meet a version of yourself you didn’t know was still in there or worse…forgot.

This book is for her.

For the woman who survived hell and kept receipts. For the woman told to be quiet, to be small, to “be a lady” and still had the audacity to take up space anyway. For the woman who isn’t sure where her trauma ends and her personality begins, but is determined to figure it out with caffeine and sheer spite. For the warrior in a silk robe who thought healing would be yoga and green juice and found out it’s more like WWE Smackdown with your inner demons while wearing waterproof mascara.

I’m writing this book now because I finally can. Not because I’ve got it all figured out (please, I barely know my Netflix password), but because I’ve done the work. I’ve walked through fire barefoot and came out with glitter in my hair. I’ve sat in the dark, had a heart-to-heart with my demons, and then handed them a ring light because the shadows weren’t working for my shot.

There was a time I couldn’t say the words: abuse. Molestation. Shame. There was a time I didn’t even know those words belonged to me.

Now?I’ll shout them from the rooftops—loud enough to make Karen from the HOA clutch her pearls.

Because what was done to me no longer defines me. Because my scars aren’t secrets—they’re Yelp reviews for survival. Because surviving isn’t the whole story—thriving is.

And because boudoir photography became the most unexpected, holy, and downright delicious form of therapy I never knew I needed.

I used to think I was broken. Too much. Too loud. Too soft. Too everything. Now? I’m art.

And this book? This is your permission slip to become art, too. Sign it, laminate it, frame it—I don’t care. Just don’t leave it in the junk drawer with the expired Bed Bath & Beyond coupons.

Давай. Let’s go.