Updated: June 10, 2021
Originally Published: Dec. 26, 2013
As I glance down at my round, soft thighs, tugging at my swim skirt, an overwhelming sentiment emerges: I truly despise public swimming pools.
My daughter, Sarah, joyfully splashes around like a carefree four-year-old. My partner, Jake, removes his shirt, glances at his pale stomach, shrugs, and then dives into the water with enthusiasm. Meanwhile, I remain seated in a lounge chair, immobilized by the sight of my thighs reflecting the sun’s rays and silently wishing to stay hidden behind the beach bag resting on my lap.
Observing Sarah evokes memories of my pre-puberty days, when I would frolic in ruffled bikinis, spending entire summers immersed in water. I used to swim effortlessly, dive to the bottom, and quickly propel myself out of the deep end to chase friends down the slide. Now, the thought of running around in my swim dress, which feels more like a tent than attire, is cringe-worthy, leading me to cocoon myself in a large towel.
As I watch a group of moms stroll by—fit and sun-kissed in their tankinis—I feel a pang of jealousy. I find myself disliking them more than the teenagers who giggle while tugging at their bikini strings. I adjust my straps, rounding my shoulders, feeling even more conscious of my pale, lumpy figure.
“Mom! Come swim!” Sarah calls out, her voice cutting through my thoughts. Jake squints at me, asking, “Aren’t you hot?” I shake my head, but I see annoyance flicker across his face and disappointment in Sarah’s eyes. I struggle to articulate the reasons behind my discomfort: my limbs resembling marshmallows, my swimsuit that seemed cute at home now looking ridiculous, and my longing for the comfort of my jeans and a proper bra.
In my peripheral vision, I spot another mom—just an ordinary mom—dressed in a charming swim dress, holding her child’s hand in the shallow end. She appears unfazed by the Tankini Moms or the raucous teenagers, and instead, she is focused on laughing with her toddler and encouraging her to venture a bit deeper.
Looking down at my towel-covered body, I feel a mix of absurdity and heat. Why should I care about my dimpled thighs? Why should I let the smirks of those boys bother me? I am missing out on the valuable experience of teaching Sarah how to swim underwater!
With determination, I rise from my chair and remind myself to focus on my daughter, not my insecurities, and begin my descent down the pool ladder.
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In summary, despite the insecurities that often accompany body image, the importance of engaging with my child and creating memories in the pool outweighs the fear of judgment. Embracing the moment and letting go of self-consciousness can lead to fulfilling experiences that I wouldn’t want to miss.