Sending nudes to men made me feel desirable…but it ruined my chance of finding love

The lighting took ages to get right. I turned lights on or off; curtains partially open or closed. My arms ached from holding the phone looking for an angle that would make me look younger, slimmer and hotter.

Pouting, I shook my hair so it fell over my face before licking my lips and lowering my gaze seductively to my bare skin. I was naked.

Once I found an image I was happy with, I carefully cropped it to show the curves of my breasts, but not my nipples. Then I pressed ‘Submit’.

The answer came almost immediately: ‘Wonderful. You look so sexy.’

Then: “Send more!!!”

So I did. I experimented with more revealing long poses and dressed in lingerie.

And I found myself hooked on both the buzz of taking the risqué photos and the enthusiastic response from the appreciative recipient – to the extent that I must have taken over a thousand nudes or “nudes” in an 18-month period. ‘, as they are known today.

Many were texted to the men I was dating, or hoping to date, at the time.

Are you judging me for this? You might think it’s risky and ridiculous to post explicit images of yourself.

You may have read about revenge porn (when recipients share racy photos or videos in retaliation) and feel that you shouldn’t be taking nude photos in the first place.

But I’m certainly not the only one sharing naked photos of myself. And it is not limited to younger generations. I’m 38 now and was almost 30 when I was in what I call my “naked phase.”

These days I warn friends who are eager to try it that it is more complicated than it looks.

Yes, women should be free to celebrate their sexuality on their own terms – but be careful where it leads.

When I started taking nude photos, it felt incredibly liberating. I had grown up in a strict Catholic household and was ashamed of sex and sexuality.

I had always struggled with low self-esteem, having been bullied as a child for being fat and ugly.

So when men responded positively to the photos, not only did I feel a boost in confidence; I felt like I was finally escaping my former self.

But over time, a bully started scrutinizing the footage and saying critical things – and that bully was me.

I zeroed my flaws, downloaded, cropped, and erased various filter settings to create smoother skin, a smaller nose, a slimmer waist.

It was easy to crop the edges of a photo to make my arms look slimmer. I found an app that gave me a more defined jawline.

In retrospect, filters may have been the most damaging part of it all. It was like painless plastic surgery and saved me from having to learn to accept the real me.

But the more I used them, the more I became convinced that my appearance was a problem to be solved.

I started comparing my face and body on screen to the real me. Soon I was too afraid to have a drink with the men who wanted to meet me, afraid they would be disappointed by the reality.

I was 26 and had just been dumped by my boyfriend of three years when I took my first nude photo.

Heartbroken and vulnerable, I had bought a new smartphone and a new group of friends. They were single young women who were very casual about sex and dating and talked openly about who they sent nudes to.

At first I was shocked, then I wondered if I wasn’t overly prudish. Maybe this was a chance to shake off my former self and show that I could be wild too.

As soon as I told a new guy to my friends, before they asked his name, they wanted to know if I had already sent him a nude photo. It felt like a new dating rule.

His reaction gave me more confidence, but posing for the photo itself felt the most empowering.

The bullying in elementary school had led to anorexia and bulimia during my teenage years. Appreciating my body through photographing it immediately erased some of the emotional damage I had been carrying for years. I felt desirable for the first time.

The friend I sent the first photo to was quick to return the favor, and it built a real sense of intimacy and anticipation in our relationship. It was really sharing.

However, eventually the relationship ended because I was afraid of that intimacy. I was addicted to the feeling of being admired. At that point I couldn’t handle the idea that he might like me more than this racier side.

Meanwhile, taking nudes became such a compulsion that I would start as soon as I got home from work, rarely even stopping to eat.

Sometimes I’d find a filter that made me look worse and obsess over my uneven skin tone, or shadows that made my belly look bigger.

So I mimicked my previous sexy poses, putting a hand on my hip or leaning forward to make my breasts look bigger. But I never looked sexy because I never felt sexy.

By then I rarely shared the photos with anyone, I was just fixated on finding flaws. I knew shooting made me unhappy, but I struggled to stop.

It was meeting the man I would eventually marry that ended it. We started messaging on Twitter in 2012. Also a writer, he was smart, quick and funny.

On our first date, I remember realizing he was more interested in my brain than my body. While he hadn’t asked for nudes, I did send him some — but as we spent more time together, the impulse to take pictures faded.

I no longer needed the validation because our chemistry was based on our personalities from the start.

He is also the least judgmental person I have ever met. He knows that nude photos are never something to be ashamed of – but also that taking those photos didn’t make me happy in the end.

Ironically, it wasn’t until after I quit that the nudes started to get me in trouble. I was robbed and my phone, with the photos on it, was stolen. I had absolutely no control over where they would end up.

My panic subsided when I realized they had been so heavily edited that no one would know it was me. I’m not sure I could have identified myself in a naked lineup.

Looking back, I realize I felt driven to take these photos as a quick fix for the damage the bullying had done to my self-esteem.

Those bullies were themselves products of a world that has an incredibly narrow beauty standard for women. We are all manipulated into feeling insecure about every part of our bodies, from our breasts to our fingernails.

I’ve been embarrassed because I was too sexy, because I wasn’t sexy enough, because I was ugly, just because I had a body in the first place. It is tiring!

When I finally got a new phone, I promised myself I’d end up filtering photos of myself.

I decided that if I felt good and wanted to capture that on my camera, I would. But it wouldn’t be something I used to distract myself when I was feeling depressed or insecure.

Now I refuse to be ashamed of the girl who took those pictures because she thought it would make her feel more beautiful and happier.

But I’m proud of the woman who learns to love what’s inside and live an unfiltered life.

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