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My Body is at the Beach — Doesn’t That Make it a “Beach Body”?
Accepting my non-beach body in all its imperfection
I am beginning to understand that I have always had the perfect “beach body,” I just wasn’t always aware of it. Sometimes it is only in looking back that we can see the truth about ourselves.
I distinctly remember a time when my skin was velvety smooth and blemish-free — nary a wrinkle to be found. My hair was silky blonde and curly. I had no extra flesh, no cellulite, no saggy anything.
I also had a Styrofoam bubble on my back to keep my 18-month-old self from drowning when my mother could not keep me out of the water. But that time was the closest I ever came to having a perfect “beach body,” as it is defined by our culture.
When I became an adolescent, I was tall, skinny and flat chested with no hips and a flat butt. But I had legs that went on forever and skin that was golden brown and lustrous. My blonde hair got blonder in the summer as I lay beside the pool with my friends who were shorter, bustier, hippier and definitely cooler than I was. I was just beginning to buy-in to the standard of “beach body” perfection that looked its nose down on my lanky awkwardness. I felt anything but acceptable in my non-beach body.
