Have you heard enough swimsuit conversation yet this summer? If you’re like me, the answer is probably, “a million times, YES!” But here I am with my two cents to throw into the conversation.
Yesterday, since our day was already a shit show, I decided that nothing could get worse if I took the shit show on the road, and since the boys love water, we went a few miles down the road to a local lake, in hopes that we could “blow the stink off” as my mom always said.
I don’t actually enjoy swimming, I think it’s because I sink like a stone and have zero coordination, which makes it ironic that I own quite the collection of swimsuits.
I’m constantly in search of the swimsuit. The one that covers all my scars, stretch marks and cellulite, as well as flattering the girls and magically making me look like Gisele Bundchen, which not a single suit ever made could possibly do, but I hold out hope anyway.
For no other reason than my failure to shave my bikini area before our impromptu trip, I chose a skirted suit, threw it on, and took off. (After slathering children with sunscreen, getting all the necessary equipment, and having to back up the driveway twice for forgotten items, that is).
Upon our arrival at the lake, I scanned the scene. You know what I saw?
- A bunch of people, mostly women, in a wide array of swimsuits. Not a single one of them looked like Gisele Bundchen! NOT A SINGLE ONE! (So that was a relief).
- Every single one of the women had flaws.
- Not a single one of them stood out.
- It didn’t matter if they wore a bikini, a tankini, or a one piece or any other combination.
- Not a single person showed any sign of caring that my girls aren’t perfect, that I have cellulite, stretch marks and scars.
- I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure every other woman there had imperfect girls, cellulite, stretch marks and scars, or at least 3 of the 4.
In other words, every single person there was entirely nonplussed by the whole thing. As a group, people were having fun, playing with the kids, beating the heat, and enjoying summer. And on my way home I had to wonder why on earth we get so darned haired up about putting on swim suits.
I get it, I’m not the same as I was when I proudly stood on the dock in a bikini, posing for pictures at age 16, but neither was a single other person there; not a single one!
I don’t know where it comes from, this toxic obsession with looking perfect, but I, for one, am over it. I don’t want to be self conscious, or believe that everyone expects me to be perfect or notices when I’m not. That, my friends, is a load of crap, and I’m not buying it.