I Was Scared To Walk Down The Beach In My Bathing Suit

During the summer season or trips to hot, sunny places, going to the beach or to a pool is a commonplace thing. That means bathing suits are needed.

While wearing a bathing suit is no big deal to many people, being seen in a bathing suit in a public space is a huge issue for others.

This used to be me — until something changed all that.

Until recently. I was never the type to run around in a bathing suit with our kids at the beach not feeling self-conscious or unafraid of judgment.

I hadn’t been truly free about letting the general public look at my body at the beach. In fact, I would usually try to find a way to cover up — at least with a sarong or something. I probably hadn’t walked around on a beach in just my bathing suit since I was in my early 20s.

But on a recent vacation to Hawaii, I was 100% DONE giving in to my insecurities — even the small ones.

All of the amazing testimonials I had read in articles and blogs over the years about women who defied their fears and let it all hang out in their bathing suits finally penetrated through. I also had to remember there was a little girl by my side who was getting old enough to figure out if her mother truly loves and accepts herself or not.

We went to the beach and I wore the black one-piece that I had so painstakingly picked out wanting a flattering fit.

I liked my new bathing suit. But when I looked in the mirror, all I could hear was that pesky voice in my head saying your legs look lumpy or you can see the scars on your thigh. The usual rhetoric from the peanut gallery in my brain.

But I had already decided.

I wasn’t going to do this anymore. It was time to put myself to the test. It was time to be brave and simply let myself be human.

I took my clothes off at the beach to reveal my suit. There were people looking — as people do. I told myself it didn’t matter.

I dropped my clothes in a pile, put my sunglasses on, picked up a sand bucket, and grabbed my daughter’s hand.

As we walked down the beach, I looked around. People were not staring at me gasping with horror.

No, they were too busy living their lives with their kids, having a blast, hunting for shells and crabs. My body or what I thought about my body were total non-issues to them. This was real life with a real body.

And so I joined all the other women and moms out there on the beach wearing their bathing suits — of all different shapes and sizes — and I realized it had been this easy all along. I just had to let myself go. There was no panel of judges waiting in the wings to condemn me for having a poochy belly, lumpy legs, or uncovered scars.

The only harsh judge was in my own mind.

And so I walked down the beach with my daughter that day. I felt free, unburdened, and relieved.

My daughter was utterly oblivious to all the chatter that had been going on inside my head. All the doubts, worries, and insecurities were not of her world. She didn’t care about those things. And on this day, with her, in my bathing suit, striding down the beach — I didn’t either.