The Body of Summers Past.

'Nobody's perfect, no, no...'  Sings Jessie J.  Something we all know right?    No bodies perfect.  Yet none of us listen.  I often read opinion pieces at the back of magazines telling us we should appreciate ourselves for who we are and accept our bodies but they are nearly always preceded by several classified pages promoting perfection.  (I've just had my breasts done but the biggest difference is my smile....)  Frankly I find it patronising, feeding us a line yet drowning us in conflicting material.

Here comes Summer.  We've had a few tastes of sunshine over the last few weeks and hopefully there's more to come from that overcast sky.  It's time to unleash the reams of white, translucent skin; dredge out the bikini and read hundreds of promising articles about how to 'get the perfect bikini body.'  This is the first year that I will take my clothes off feeling my body is not at it's best.  As a runner and conscious eater, I may not have been perfect but I knew my body wasn't going to be any better than I had made it.  For me, that was enough to stride around confidently in all my glowing-white glory.

This year is the first year that I wistfully wish I had the body from my past.  Along with hundreds of women, I feel I've lost control over it.  It's been through the wars, it's gained weight, it sat on the sofa for months on end.  Huge areas of my skin have been compromised and now I really am an English rose, both white and red.  It bothers me to a degree; I would be lying if I said it didn't.  But is it going to stop me from wearing a bikini?  No.  Will it stop me from enjoying my holiday?  No.  I'm going to spray tan, adorn myself in a glamorous kaftan and recline under my parasol like Jackie O.

Recently I frequented a rather lovely spa with my Ma for her Mother's day gift.  The spa usually has spot-on service so I was quite unhappy when they didn't have any robes clean for over an hour.  I was forced to stride through the changing room with all my secrets on show and perch by the poolside feeling like my arm was a beacon attracting curious stares.  In reality, I quickly realised that no one looked twice.  I felt a bit silly.  The women were all older than me and their bodies were no longer young, clean canvases.  They bore their experiences on their skin: the stretch of babies; the soft curve of good living; the lines of time and laughter.  People would have been more likely to stare if I had a six-pack and muscled thighs; instead I was just one of them.

It's not our fault; we live immersed in a world of media and social networks, making us intensely vain.  We assume that people want to look at us, that they are going to judge us.  Really, the whole world doesn't care what you look like in a bikini.  Believe it or not, they have better things to do.  (Like worry about their own appearance!)

So although I will lament the Body of Summers Past and possibly throw a strop or two when I can't find anything seasonably suitable to wear, I will try to remember that it's not all about me.  Nobody's perfect and trying to be so is exhausting.  There's too much else to do: daiquiris to drink; beaches to bask on and experiences to enjoy.  So go out and enjoy, enjoy and enjoy.  Then....enjoy some more.