Coming Home to Myself: Why Naturism Is My Healing Ground

There was a time in my life when I couldn’t hear myself think. My mind was loud with the voices of others telling me how to show up, how to shrink, how to perform just enough to be palatable. My body didn’t feel like mine. It felt like a battleground. A place where expectations, abuse, and generational wounds collided.

I lived in survival mode for so long, I forgot what it meant to simply be.

Naturism gave me that back.

Not just nudity, but the choice to be seen without apology. The act of showing up as I am, in my skin, without armor. At first, it was terrifying. But little by little, I began to understand that what I feared most wasn’t being exposed, it was being real. And being real, in a world that constantly demands performance, is the most radical thing you can do.

Through this practice, I began to unpack the mental health struggles I’d hidden for years. I stopped pretending to be okay. I stopped numbing myself with silence. I allowed my pain to breathe in open air. I let the sun touch parts of me I had spent years trying to cover emotionally and physically. And in that exposure, something beautiful happened: I began to soften.

I started feeding myself with love. Not just food, but with movement, with laughter, with boundaries, with joy. I started asking: “What does care look like for me today?”

And for once, I had an answer.

I fell in love again with myself. But this time it wasn’t based on achievement or appearance. It was rooted in presence. In truth. In watching myself come back from the edge and choosing to live with intention.

The Crowned Nudi is the embodiment of that love. It’s not just a name, it’s my heartbeat. It’s every tear I’ve shed, every moment of doubt, every time I chose to stay and see myself through. It’s a reclaiming of space, of sensuality, of softness and strength, especially as a Black woman in naturism. It’s a love letter to the body that never gave up on me.

But the magic of naturism isn’t just personal. It’s collective.

I’ve met people who carry trauma in different shapes but recognize the same ache in my eyes. We don’t have to explain ourselves, we just get it. We show up for each other. We build together. We laugh, cry, organize, and dream. And in those connections, I’ve found mirrors. I’ve found family. I’ve found healing.

Naturism gave me my voice back. It gave me my body back.

It gave me purpose.

It reminded me that I am not here to merely exist. I am here to flourish.

And now, I surround myself with people who want to see me do just that. Who water me in ways I never knew I needed. Who remind me, even on the hard days, that I am sacred. That my healing is holy. That my story matters.

This is more than a lifestyle.

This is my home.