This is the Best It’s Going to Be

I don’t have any pictures from my
honeymoon that I’m not hiding my
tummy in.

“It’s just downhill from here, you know. This is the best it’s going to be,” my therapist told me not too long ago. She was relaying something a therapist had told her when she was a teenager when discussing body issues. Out of context, this sounds odd, so let me put it in context. I have some pretty bad self image, weight, and food related issues. My therapist was trying to get me to appreciate the body I have and pointing out all the things my body allows me to do. I kept going back to all the things it couldn’t do and the many ways it had betrayed me over the years. I couldn’t see one positive thing. Finally, she said, “I would recommend moving toward embracing your body. You’ve spent so much time fighting against it, why not embrace it now?” I shrugged, knowing she was right, but not quite sure how to get out of my own way. That’s when she said, “Our bodies age. No one can escape it. Mine does, yours does, everyone’s does. It’s just a fact of life. It’s all downhill from here, you know. This is the best it’s going to be at any point, going forward in your life.” I nodded in agreement. We couldn’t stop time’s march forward. I could work toward embracing my body that I have in the here and now or I can always like back to the body I didn’t embrace, but should have. I’ve done that my whole life.

My honeymoon was coming up and I needed new bathing suits. I bought a safe one piece and then I bought a high-waisted bikini. Nothing crazy, but 100% out of my comfort zone. I hadn’t worn a bikini since I was a preteen. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time. I went back to therapy and told her what I’d done. She was proud of me for taking that step toward embracing my body. I left her office feeling empowered. I proudly packed my bikini into my suitcase until my honeymoon came.

I pulled it out of the suitcase and put it on and immediately started to second guess myself. I’m fat. I should be wearing a tent, not a bikini. This isn’t me. What was I thinking? Even though it doesn’t show a ton of skin, it shows more skin than I’m comfortable showing or should be showing. Everyone will stare and whisper about me. This is a mistake. My husband saw me dancing nervously in front of the mirror and inspecting every inch of myself. I told him I thought buying it was a mistake. He asked,  “do you love the bathing suit.” I said, “yes.” He asked, do you feel good in it.” I told him, “ I did when I bought it, but now I think that was a mistake. I don’t think I belong wearing a bikini.” He said, “if you love it, wear it. We don’t know anyone here, so who cares? Wear your bikini.”

Here you can see it is indeed a bikini. Please excuse the
messy guest room behind it. This was right after my wedding.

I put it on and walked to the beach. When I took off my cover up, no one stared. No one whispered. No one called animal control thinking I was a beached whale. No one even looked in my direction. No one cared about what I was wearing. I didn’t even do that thing where I hear people talking and laughing and assuming it’s about me. I just enjoyed my time on the beach with my husband. That bikini brought so much fear for no reason. I alternated it with my other bathing suit throughout the week for utilitarian reasons, more than self esteem reasons. Was I just laying on the beach? Bikini! Was I snorkeling and didn’t want to worry about the ruffles on my bikini floating in my line of sight or having to much of my fair skin exposed to the sun? One piece. Back and forth it went like that, all week. I felt great!

I started to notice other women with “less than perfect bodies” also wearing bikinis on the beach, some more revealing than my own. Where I used to judge them, I began to feel camaraderie. We didn’t meet society’s expectations for what a body should look like; we had curves. We had large thighs, a butt, boobs, no sculpted muscles, cellulite. We were not the classic image of beauty… or were we? I majored in art and spent many hours looking at sculptures and paintings. Many of them, especially ancient artworks, featured curvaceous women with wide hips, squishy tummies, full breasts, and thick thighs. Through the 1700s, 1800s, and 1900s, the women became less curvaceous and and and more angular; more man-like. The outfits of the 1920s illustrate this particularly well. I can’t blame it all on this glamorous fashion era. I know there are other steps along the way that ultimately got us to an ideal that is mostly unattainable. There are many other places and people that can detail our arrival at this ideal. That’s not really what I’m getting at.

My point is that while I have the more robust shape that has been considered feminine and beautiful in the past, I am utterly disconnected from it. I know that I must continue to lose weight for health reasons, I must do it for those reasons and not some ideal that is unattainable for MY body. Even at my skinniest, I was curvaceous. That’s just the natural shape of me. I need to connect with those curves and this body if I’m ever going to be truly healthy. I need to embrace this body, because this really is the best it will be. And so although it terrifies me, every time I go swimming, I pack both bathing suits. I take a deep breath and put my bikini on. I run through the things others might say about me wearing it and then steel myself up for it. All the self doubt plays across my face as I consider taking it off and stuffing it in a place where it will never see the light of day again. I look to my husband for assurance. Putting it on is an emotional battle with myself. I feel exposed and vulnerable. Every time I wear it is an act of defiance, and so I wear my bikini.