I take a lot of selfies. A lot.

I don’t share them all, of course.

Due to unfortunate circumstances, I have less than 20 photos of my whole childhood. And 12 of those are school photos.

No family vacations, no birthday parties, no standing by the TV photos and no Christmas photos. The only photo I have of myself with Santa is when I was 21.

In 27 years of marriage, I was the photographer in our family. At least 90% of our family photos are three or fewer people. [Once in a while this blonde shows up, standing beside the children. I’m sure my grandchildren will think my children had a nanny growing up.] The majority of our family vacations, birthday parties, standing by the TV and Christmas photos are of my children and their father. Very few include me.

Since I’ve been single for the past two years, and travel solo, who else to record my adventures? The dog? Selfies it is.

Thanks to selfies, I finally get to record my life, my way. So, I’m taking a lot of selfies, proving I was here, there and everywhere. I’m chronicling what remains of my life. Because if I don’t, no one else will.

And no one can take those selfies away from me, they are mine.

Besides, the first 50 years of my life are barely visually documented. I have a lot of catching up to do.

I don’t publicly post selfies for adoration or comments. I do it as a self-confidence booster. The first selfie I posted publicly took me hours of self-talk and a trembling hand to click the ‘post’ button. Actually, the first twelve to twenty were mostly like that.

Now, I don’t care, I post away, proving that I’m still here. Proving that I exist, existed, and I am living, doing, smiling. I’m posting my selfies for me. Not for comments, admiration or ego.

These days, I don’t take selfies, I give selfies. For me.