Last week, I casually mentioned I needed to go bathing suit shopping and thousands of people (or maybe just my six remaining friends) told me how “brave” I was. I started worrying about why bravery was required to go bathing suit shopping, and then I remembered that my ass looks like it lives down the street from McDonalds (which we do), so then I went there instead and never made it bathing suit shopping because there are too many cheeseburgers in this world already and somebody has to deal with that, right?!
Except that didn’t actually happen. But, it could have because once we start believing that bravery is required to wear a bathing suit we may as well find a vat of vanilla milkshake to dive into and drown.
What is wrong with us?
{digression: I also mentioned that I’m petrified of flying and not a single person told me how brave I was for flying which is so messed up because getting on an airplane that you know only stays safely in the air if you wear the right colored underwear can be really terrifying. It’s pink by the way. I checked.}
So when did heading to my very suburban mall to spend loads of my husband’s money to buy festive colored lycra that I get to lounge around in earn me a bravery sticker? I want people to think I’m brave for like, um actual brave things (like eating soft-cooked eggs or writing a blog!)
I’m self confident, not self delusional. This body has bathed in Oreos and milkshakes for years. It’s also popped out babies (and other things) and then nursed those babes and so now it looks like the part. But I don’t care anymore, and also, I really like the way my ears look in a bikini. Seriously. Hot. Ears.
I’ve been everything from a size 16 to a size 8 (sitting somewhere in the middle now) and have always been tearfully aware of my physical flaws. They still exist (and the list continues to grow, WHEEE!!) but as my best friend in the making Cheryl Strayed has said,
“I used to spend a lot more time fretting about my beauty,” she says. “I used to invest energy in being a woman who turned heads when she walked down the street…I still care about my looks, I want people to find me attractive, but I don’t spend an awful lot of time or energy making sure that happens. I’ve let go of beauty as a primary source of power.
“I don’t fault young women for struggling with that. Beauty is, after all, the one form of power young women are granted, so why wouldn’t they bank on it? The fact that I no longer do has to do with my own personal growth, not with anything on the outside.”
What it comes down to is that there’s not a single fun thing that does not happen in a bathing suit.
Sitting poolside sipping on a Margarita. Running through sprinklers like it’s 1963. Accidently whipping water balloons at your cute neighbour then offering to dry him off. Now picture doing any of this in your Corral Gap Skinny Jeans and Mint V-Neck Tee. Ridiculous, right?
See, no bravery required.
Marci O’Connor is a freelance writer, social media shenanigan-maker and avid pie eater. She has crushes on tons of really smart people so that makes her a smidgen smart. Known affectionately as a non-housewife, her husband and two boys think she rocks anyway. Currently, she lives in Canada but often contemplates moving somewhere over the rainbow. You can read more from Marci on her blog, Being Marci, and on twitter.
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