Burning Beneath

Today, something happened at the swimming pool that made me think about my body, confidence, and perhaps most importantly, freedom.

I have always been a modest person. Even when I was thin, I never liked clothes that showed the shape of my body. My T-shirts were always loose and untucked, long enough to cover my belly and my butt. Shorts and T-shirts have always been my comfort zone, but even then, everything needed to be loose enough that my curves weren’t on display.

It wasn’t necessarily because I hated my body. I was simply incredibly self-conscious.

I was the same way with my hair. My naturally curly hair never seemed “right” to me. Straight hair was what I understood to be beautiful, so for years I tried everything I could to make mine straight.

Looking back, I wonder how much of that was really me and how much was the culture around me quietly teaching me what a woman was supposed to look like.

And growing up shy, orphaned, and often feeling invisible probably didn’t help.

But today was different.

I had planned to go swimming at the aquatic centre. The pool I normally use was closed for cleaning, but there was a smaller pool available.

So I went in.

I was wearing swimming shorts and a swimming top. Normally, I would have put a sleeveless shirt over them. That was the plan.

But when I got there, I took the shirt off.

And then something almost strange happened.

Nothing.

I didn’t look around to see who was looking at me.

I didn’t wonder what anyone thought about my stomach.

I didn’t worry about whether my body looked good in what I was wearing.

I just wanted to get into the water.

For about 40 or 50 minutes, I alternated between breaststroke, walking through the water, stretching, and doing some of my exercises in the pool. The water made everything easier on my hip and knees.

And I enjoyed myself.

My body wasn’t something being displayed.

It was something I was using.

Then I got out of the pool and walked past a mirror.

And there she was.

My old critic.

I looked at my reflection and immediately gave myself that familiar disapproving look.

Yep. You still have an ugly body.

And strangely, that moment made me understand that something really had changed.

Because apparently I haven’t learned to love the way my body looks.

Maybe I never will.

But for the first time, I didn’t need to love the way it looked in order to live comfortably inside it.

There is a difference.

For years, when I saw women—or men—wearing something that didn’t necessarily suit their body shape, I would think:

Wow. They must have incredible confidence.

Now I’m wondering if I completely misunderstood them.

Maybe it wasn’t confidence.

Maybe they simply wanted to wear that dress.

Maybe those shorts were comfortable.

Maybe that swimsuit allowed them to swim.

Maybe they liked the colour.

Maybe they weren’t standing in front of the mirror asking whether their body had earned permission to wear it.

Maybe they were simply getting on with their lives.

And perhaps that is what I’m finally beginning to understand.

I don’t suddenly think my body is beautiful.

I’m not going to manufacture some inspirational ending where I looked in the mirror and magically loved every part of myself.

I didn’t.

I still saw the things I don’t like.

I still know there are things I would change if I could.

But today, none of those things stopped me from getting into the pool.

Maybe pain helped bring me here. When your body hurts enough, practicality starts winning arguments that vanity used to win. I wanted the water because it made my body feel better. Suddenly worrying about whether somebody could see my belly seemed ridiculously unimportant.

But I’d like to believe there’s some growth in there too.

Maybe self-acceptance isn’t standing naked in front of a mirror and declaring every inch beautiful.

Maybe it’s much quieter than that.

Maybe it’s simply saying:

This is my body today.

It doesn’t have to be beautiful before I exercise it.

It doesn’t have to be thin before I take it swimming.

It doesn’t have to meet somebody else’s standard before I dress it comfortably.

And I don’t have to wait until I approve of everything I see in the mirror before I start enjoying my life.

It took me a very long time to understand that.

Maybe later than I wish it had.

But perhaps freedom doesn’t care how late you arrive.

Today I wore the swimsuit.

I got into the water.

I moved.

I enjoyed myself.

I saw my reflection afterward and still criticized it.

I just didn’t let that criticism decide what I was allowed to do.

And maybe that is the moment of freedom I have been waiting for all along.