let’s just get naked

A dear friend invited me over to have a play date, a glass of wine, and hopefully a slip in the hot tub.  I can assure you it wasn’t as sexy as it may sound.  We were just hoping to catch a moment of relaxation and bubbles while the kids ran around.  In short, it didn’t happen.  But it did get me thinking about getting naked.  Sometimes it’s so confronting to even be in a bathing suit among friends, even real friends the kind you could say anything to and they really don’t give a shit what you look like.  It’s not that I wonder what you must be thinking about my thighs.  It’s more that I think about it and I don’t want to be down on myself, but when I look in the mirror there is certainly room for improvement.  Just for the record, I can also and easily say “it’s not that bad” or “could be worse.”  But really, I don’t look that good naked.

There’s some level of acceptance for me to get to, but I’m just not there yet.  I know that I need to and will lose the 10 pounds that I gained over the holidays.  Hell, bathing suit season is right around the SoCal corner.  And I know that if you saw me you’d say, “Shut up. You look fine.”  I’m just saying it’s all perspective, sister.  I want to feel good about the outside from the inside.

I need an immersion of reassurance.  That’s certainly what I found when I read Mary Beth William’s Mom’s First Nude Shoot.  It’s a story of how she got naked with her other 40-something, mommy poker friends for a photo shoot in Time Out (NY) magazine.  The story wasn’t about her feeling empowered (however, I hope that was a byproduct of the experience), but more to the point of having the courage to be looked at, and a level of vulnerability, grace, and acceptance of who she really is.  Yep, that was a courageous act, not just disrobing.  I’m not ready to play poker with those girls, but I really like the acceptance piece.

Maybe I need to go to Harbin again.  It was always a hideaway where I was confronted with nudity and reassured that I’m normal.  A trip to Harbin reminded me that there is a WIDE spectrum of body shapes and sizes, and I have no room to complain.  Sitting (naked) in those hot springs was always a good reset button on my body-mind-spirit.  Maybe I just need another trip to San Francisco again, where I always felt Nirvana “Come As You Are” is a theme song (but not the psycho gun part).

I want to feel comfortable in my skin not just for me, but on behalf of my boys.  Not that I go around parading my nudity, nor do I want to quickly cover or chide them for coming into my room when I’m getting dressed (well at least while they’re still young and it’s not weird).  I just want to feel proud of my body, all that it’s gone through, and all the strength it’s needed to get through this life.  I do love my life and I want to love my body.  It’s done good.  I want to be thankful and I am, I just want to remember to be more “hot stuff” and less “ugh” when I look in the mirror.  I think Husband most of all would appreciate the “hot stuff” part.

Yes, I’m doing my Sanity Friday three mile beach walk.  Yes, I’ve been going to Jazzercize for two weeks now.  I’m taking the positive steps to physically feel better about my body, which will likely produce great results for the psychological side.  I guess when it comes down to it, I just want to see more of what’s real (thank you Lizzie, thank you Bonnie, and yes! thank you Leonard Nimoy) and not so much of the pretending and pretentiousness that’s out there.  Like if we could all get naked, and go, “oh, there you are” with all the bumps, scars, rolls and moles that we all have.  Does this make me some kind of weird nudist?  Really, I just want to know that I’m normal.  Then again I’m not just another jen.  So who knows.

I too, MB, want to be real, vulnerable, and courageous.  I have the faith that when I leap, I’ll land (possibly bruised, battered, but never broken).  But I see your rub, it’s the initial fear, the doubt, and the shitty internal dialogue that is there.  I think I just need to strip down, take a long real look, breathe in acceptance, and say “thank you.”  It is just boobies after all and they’re mine.

But first I need a drink and listen to Joan again.  Cheers friends!

This post included in Real Life’s Your Life Your Blog