oh hey, this is me in a bathing suit.
after perusing target for the perfect suits to take with me on our desert getaway (t-minus five days and omg i cannot wait), i finally decided upon this little black scalloped bandeau from their vanilla beach collection (i also purchased one in white). side note: these are made for teeny tiny humans so i suggest sizing up so you don’t feel like a sausage. you’re welcome.
anyway, i love the flirtiness of this top and lucky for me, it goes perfectly with the black hipster bottoms i purchased (also from target) over two years ago before my trip to australia. also, whoever decided to sell bikini tops and bottoms separately was a genius, so thanks for that.
while part of this post is obviously a reason to show off my new swimwear, the other part is to tell you a little more about why posting myself in a bikini is equal parts liberating and terrifying. actually more like 10% liberating and 90% terrifying.
like many of you, i’d assume, i’ve struggled with body insecurities for pretty much my entire life. they all kind of came to a head in middle school and i eventually developed an eating disorder which thankfully i overcame by the time i left for college. but being at pepperdine where part-time models roam freely and where the occasional celebrity will show up behind you in line at the malibu country mart starbucks didn’t do me any favors. i’ll admit that a good portion of my early 20’s was also spent fixated on how i looked in a pair of skinny jeans. it wasn’t until maybe just two years ago that i finally realized how warped my perception had become. i had wasted nearly two decades of my life wishing i looked like someone else, something else and i knew i didn’t want to waste a third. life is too damn short, y’all. so i started to make peace with my body. praising it for its abilities, its strength, its resilience. i turned my focus from my flaws to my favorite characteristics, and slowly but surely the image staring back at me in the mirror was no longer my foe.
do i still have days when i curse my muscular thighs? sure. but as soon as i find myself about to fall down a rabbit hole of self-loathing, i remind myself that i am fearfully and wonderfully made. my long limbs, big brown eyes, fading freckles, and even the extra junk in the trunk all make me uniquely me. and this “me” is worth celebrating.