The last time I truly felt comfortable in a bikini was 1972. I was four years old. I had zero body fat. I didn’t have any boobs. It was perfect.
Flash forward to 1986—senior year spring break in St. Petersburg, Florida. This was the first time I can remember wearing a bikini post 1972, but things had clearly changed with my body. While I was not overweight, I was 17 so I had some body fat. I also had 34DD boobs, and “those things” on a 120 pound, 5’ 1” frame girl were a freak show. Thank goodness a few years later—with the support of my parents and the acknowledgement of my health insurance carrier that “those things” would probably lead to excessive back pain over time—I had a breast reduction.
Flash forward to 2008—40th birthday spring break in Nassau, Bahamas. Despite a recent weight loss of about 10 pounds, I now had the reverse problem of my senior-year, spring break bikini—the size of my stomach and my boobs had switched roles. But I bought my first bikini in 22 years and wore it anyway. However, I also took along a tankini as a precautionary measure, I didn’t want to make anyone around me feel uncomfortable.
That was three years ago, and I’ve gained the 10 pounds back. And despite that fact, I decided to bring that same bikini to Siesta Key, Florida for Spring Break 2011 (It’s in great shape because I haven’t worn it in three years). And not only that, it is the ONLY suit I brought so I knew I wouldn’t have any other options.
And you know why I did this? Because I am exhausted! I am exhausted of spending way too much time of my life thinking about what my body isn’t and what I want it to be. If I could add up every second of time I have spent either on my own or with girlfriends talking or thinking about my body image and how I didn’t like it, and used that time for the betterment of society, I think I could solved the following problems:
1) World peace—not just Middle East, but WORLD peace.
2) World hunger.
3) Global energy crisis.
In addition to being exhausted about thinking about my body, I also acknowledged some realities:
1) I’m over 40 and menopause is just around the corner—actually, it’s on my front porch and knocking on the door. I will never have the body of a 12 year-old boy or a 20 year-old college sorority co-ed, unless I stop eating and spend all my time in the gym, neither of which sound appealing.
2) My body is the carbon copy/DNA duplicate of my mothers. She is the same height as me, actually weighs 10 pounds less than me, but she carries all her weight in her stomach. Always has, always will. Why would it be different for me?
Is this me giving up? I’ve decided it definitely is not! Nope, it is the complete opposite—this is me accepting me and not worrying about what other people think I look like, and more importantly working on not caring what other people think I look like. Because at the end of the day, it’s just a body and I am so much more than just my body, as we all are. So I’m walking around on the beach with just my bikini and my stomach is not flat, and it does in fact jiggle, and there is a slight crease in the center, and you can see the scars on the side of my body from the breast reduction. But you know what? I don’t care, and I actually find it liberating. The emotional weight of my body has weighed me down much more than any excess weight I have ever physically carried around. This bikini has ironically been the greatest weight loss of my life.
Does this mean you’ll find me running around town in just running bras and no shirt? I don’t think so. One step at a time. Baby steps. Bikini steps.
