You’ve likely seen that viral video: moms laughing and playing on the beach with their kids, capturing moments that scream joy. The message is clear: “Your kids don’t care about your imperfect body. What matters is that you’re present and enjoying life.” They don’t notice the little flaws; they simply see you, their mom, the one who makes every day special.
When it comes to the beach, I usually opt for a loose-fitting rashguard or just skip the water altogether. It’s my way of navigating my insecurities. I know my kids and partner are supportive and don’t judge me; their opinions are what truly matter. Yet, I still grapple with how I see myself. The truth is, I often wish to avoid the gaze of others.
At the beach, my routine looks something like this: a bikini underneath a breezy, sleeveless red dress, paired with dark sunglasses and a floppy straw hat. Just before stepping out, I take a deep breath and pull in my stomach. I quickly shed the dress and hat, slipping into my reliable black rashguard. I choose bikini bottoms that tie, ensuring comfort without cutting into my skin. Then, I make a beeline for the water, submerging myself to the thighs.
The body positivity movement encourages self-love for every shape and size, reminding us that beauty comes in all forms. I believe that wholeheartedly. I can look at women who are larger than me and think, “She’s stunning.” I admire curves and confidence in others. Yet when it comes to my own reflection, I struggle. Maybe it’s because I grew up as the “skinny girl,” a label that felt like a lifeline amid family expectations. My sister always received compliments about her beauty, while I clung to my own version of worthiness.
We all have our stories—moments of feeling inadequate or unattractive. Perhaps it was a thoughtless comment from a boy in school or a reminder from a family member about our weight. Each of these experiences added layers to how we perceive ourselves. When pregnancy transformed my body, it felt as though those past insecurities resurfaced, and suddenly, I saw myself as “the fat girl.”
Recently, I created a meme that read: “How to get bikini-ready: just wear a bikini.” I stand by that statement; I truly believe in celebrating imperfections. However, my own perception of beauty remains elusive. My stomach, a reminder of the 100 pounds gained during my last pregnancy, hangs like crepe paper. My thighs, speckled with keratosis pilaris, rub together uncomfortably. I rely on Spanx to smooth everything out, and I often hide the rest of my insecurities under my trusty black rashguard. Once I’m in the water, I can conceal even more.
There’s a constant tug-of-war between wanting to fully enjoy the water with my kids and my desire to hide my body. However, I often choose to embrace the water. My kids love it when I pretend to be a dolphin or toss them into the waves. My oldest frequently asks, “Mama, can you throw me?” Even if I’m not as strong as their dad, those moments of laughter make it all worthwhile. It’s important for them to see me engaging, even if I feel self-conscious.
The rest of the beach experience can happen in a dress. I can wade with my baby, collect shells, and create magnificent sandcastles without revealing my insecurities. We can make unforgettable memories together without my stomach becoming the center of attention.
Maybe one day I’ll feel more confident. After all, I own a bikini (in black, of course). As I age, I realize I won’t fit that teenage ideal forever. I know I should embrace my body as it is now, but I’m still working on it.
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In summary, while we may struggle with our self-image, it’s essential to focus on the joy of being present with our loved ones. Embracing our imperfections is a journey worth taking, and we can find beauty in the moments spent making memories, regardless of our body image.