Whilst I tried not to mention my then-forthcoming holiday every five minutes, I did have to tell my clients I’d be away. And because they’re all lovely people, they’d ask where I was going and what my plans were.
“Mexico!” I’d grin excitedly. “And soaking up the sun.”
They were all thrilled for me, which I found really kind. Then one of them said, “But how do you feel about wearing a bikini with your scars?”
“Absolutely fine,” I replied truthfully.
I’ve had a long scar on my left side since I was 18, thanks to a scoliosis surgery. It’s almost 17 years old now and these days it’s pretty faded. The one on my abdomen, which is less than four years old, is far more prominent still.
So it’s a couple of things for me: I’m very used to having large scars thanks to my first one being so mature. Aged 18, I knew I had two choices – get over it, or stay mad about it. Despite being a person who loves an argument, I thought that The Rest of My Life was a long time to be annoyed about something I had no control over; about agreeing to a surgery which was meant to improve my overall quality of life.
More recently, I’ve realised that I benefit from something I like to refer to as scar privilege. By which I mean that my scars are easy and comfortable to hide, and that it’s socially acceptable for me to keep them covered up. Both are easily concealed by one-piece swimwear, so even in the context of a pool or beach, I can cover them up without anyone being any the wiser.
To show my scars is therefore almost always a true choice on my part. It’s something I’m fully in control of and get to shape the narrative of. The only time I have a lot less agency or adaptability is when I’m having a sexual encounter (and even then, there are options), which is also totally different from the situation of showing my scars in public.
I really do think that choice is critical. When we feel forced, coerced, or in any other way obliged to comply with something like this, we’re immediately less comfortable with it. Getting to choose, allowing the decision to be our own, and taking charge of it enables us to honour ourselves fully, knowing that we’ve done the right thing by ourselves.
The other key element for me is knowing that I can change my mind at any time. This decision isn’t permanent, and if I wake up feeling great and like I am happy to bare all, I can do that. But that if something shifts later in the day, I can change my mind. Or if I wake up tomorrow and want to do something different, I absolutely can.
I acted on this back in 2018: having been diagnosed with a Desmoid tumour in July, I watched it get steadily worse and became increasingly anxious regarding what this meant for my health, and also about my body image. The main impacts this had were on how I felt in my clothes, how I felt when being intimate with my then-partner, and how I felt about the idea of wearing a bikini when I was due to be on holiday that September.
To help with the first issue, I tended to wear baggier clothes (and ones that would fit, as some of my clothes then didn’t fit) than I usually did. I didn’t address the second one, which I do regret, and this is an experience I’ve definitely learned from; I don’t hold any grudge towards my ex-partner or beat myself up for how I behaved – I just know I’d do things differently in the future.
The third issue I dealt with best. I made a backup plan. And I communicated my feelings. One of my best friends was joining me on holiday, and I confided in her, my mum and my sister that I was struggling. The three of them – my friend from her home in Melbourne – helped me to choose a one-piece for the trip, and I decided to pack my existing bikinis too, to give myself options.
When I arrived at my destination, and with encouragement, I felt differently. I continued to give myself grace and the flexibility to change my mind, but lo and behold, the one-piece stayed in my suitcase with the tags on, and was duly returned for a refund from the retailer when I got home. If I hadn’t taken one with me, and I’d forced myself to be in a bikini, I risked upsetting myself. Choice is key.
To anyone reading this, ask yourself this: what are my options? Where can I exercise choices and adaptations?
Here in the present day, I’m happy to bare my scars in public, I don’t feel the need for a backup plan. My body is what it is, it has survived this far, and I honour myself in choosing to dress as I please. But it isn’t about showing up on the day and waiting to see what happens – this can work for you, but it’s more likely to make you feel uncomfortable. A little bit of preparation goes a long way. Want some help with yours? Get in touch and we’ll chat about how I can support you.