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One of the hardest things for me as a director of The Chattanooga Cherries is the rejection part, having to tell someone “No”.  It’s one of the reasons I am not the only one making the decision and I have multiple people (assistant directors, talent scouts and professional photographers) who also are available to weigh in on roaster decisions.

The modeling world is a cruel one, being told “no” anytime sucks, but after awhile rejection can take it’s toll on you.  I hate being the bearer of bad news and causing someone any type of negative feeling.  I sometmes wish I could be a bit more like Janice Dickinson on ANTM but I just don’t see that happening.

As many of you know I have been dealing with some major health issues here for awhile, and unfortunately that’s had a big impact on my modeling career.  Just when things started back up and started to go well, then “BAM” health goes to hell, actually it was already there but the effects from the medications were not.

In a selfish way that’s one of the minor reasons I started the Chattanooga Cherries, right now I’m not able to do much but I can help other girls.  I enjoy helping people and it keeps me somewhat active in the industry in a small way.

People think that as a model you have excellent self esteem and self image.  Well it can be a load of bull.  I think models can be even more insecure than just an ordinary girl, they just do better at pulling the wool over the publics eyes.


I stood in front of my full length mirror naked.  I closed my eyes seeing the mental picture of what I was familiar with, not perfection by far but not bad.  Upon opening my eyes I found myself staring at a naked stranger.  I closed  my eyes again and worked up the former self mental picture, opened my eyes again and the naked stranger was still standing there staring at me oddly.  My eyes were now squeezed shut, trying to come up with the image, knowing that this had to be a bad dream and I would wake up.  Perfection would not be looking at me, but I would be looking back at me, not this stranger.  Opening my eyes again was not an option at that moment, when you are tearing up it’s hard to see clearly.

Forcing myself to look again was hard.  The skin is no longer flawless, the breasts are not where they used to sit, the twelve inch difference between the bust/waist/hips is a wistful ten inch difference, my arse went out for a run and never got all the way back up, and I swear I saw the skin under my arm think about waving in a few years, my thighs have always conversed a little but never had the yelling match of “you let me by, I’ll let you by” as they do now.

Only someone that truly hates me would do this to my body, to my self esteem, to my image, to the career that just had started to go right again!  I know my life and health are much more important than looking good in a bikini, but sometimes it’s harder than others to pretend that I’m okay with this.  This being the monster (AE) that has taken over my body.