The Bikini Transformation

Today I bought a bikini.

OK… I bought half of a bikini.

If you're a regular reader, you know that I've been looking for a bathing suit for quite some time now. This is one of life's worst punishments in the world of being a woman. I've come to grips with the reality that I'm not going to find that one perfect swimsuit. I'm going to find something wrong with all of them because I always find something wrong with the ME that is in them.

In my heart, I'm a bikini girl. When I think of myself at the seashore, I'm always the Hot Tropic model in the strings and seashells. Maybe not seashells, but you know what I'm talking about. In my fantasy, I'm lying on a towel soaking up the sun rays, spreading oil over toned muscle and beautifully bronzed skin. I play volleyball with my girlfriends and roll around getting dusted with sand.

Snap out of it. (Yeah, I'm talking to you!) Here's the reality. I've had two kids and other than the occasional Mystic Tan, I've been "the white girl" all my life. I've got a decent figure, but I wouldn't exactly describe it as toned and the only way I will ever be beautifully bronzed is if my freckles multiply and run together. I've NEVER worn a bikini in front of another human being in my life, but I have a confession to make.

I want one really bad.

Many years ago when I was going through one of many life transformations, I looked like an extra from a Grateful Dead tribute video dressed in my bohemian skirt, ripped blue jeans and tank top. Everything I owned smelled like patchouli and pot. My wardrobe spoke loudly of the condition of my heart and the state of my life at the time. Needless to say, I was a mess on the inside and outside.

A "preachette" (female preacher) from London came to speak at the rehab center I was locked away in. As I listened to this refined woman speak I couldn't help but admire her outfit. When I caught myself in the state of admiration, I was actually shocked and embarrassed of myself. This was the day that something changed inside of me. I don't remember what the woman said, but I remember her navy slacks and jacket and how great I would look in them. I confessed this foreign daydream to my roommate who must've spilled the beans because on the day of the preachette's departure, she presented me with a large box and in it was the suit. Four months later, I graduated from rehab wearing it.

Currently, I'm in another life transformation. Hopefully not AS drastic as the last, but pretty close. This time, I battle more of my demons. I battle feeling like a failure, like a bad mother and generally like I'm not good enough, not smart enough, not talented enough, not strong enough and not pretty enough.

This time, instead of a suit, it's a bikini. I'm starting off small, so I just bought half. Yes, the store clerk cocked her head to the side in puzzlement, because really… who only buys only the top? Me.

Fake it till you make it, someone wise once told me. So I'm faking it. Until the day that I am ready to throw all my flaws out there for the world to gawk at, I will wear only half and it will look damn good under a tank top.