I'm a 2-Piece Swimsuit in a 1-Piece Town

I knew I would be different when I moved to our small town.  There’s just no way you take a suburbanite from a metropolis of 10 million people, plunk her down in a rural community of 3,000 and not expect her to be a fish out of water.

I assumed I might have some different political views.  (being moderately annoyed by each side)

I assumed I might have some different theological views.  (tending to focus on spirituality, not religion)

I assumed I might make some different lifestyle choices. (mainly enjoying my beer and coffee in a seemingly conservative town)

And I was okay with all of that.

But I wasn’t ready for this one…

Shortly after we moved into our new home, I took the kids to enjoy the local pool.  We walk into the small neighborhood pool with our floaties in tow.  I close the gate behind us, and we find an open space of grass to lay out our towels.  Then I lather my ghost-white kids in SPF 1,000 to combat our now-closer sun. (By the way, the Idaho sun is way hotter than the Illinois sun.  We all talk about the “dry heat” like it’s the only difference from the Midwest, but everyone is aware that being 6,000 feet closer to the sun actually matters, right?)

We finally settle ourselves and turn around to scan the pool…  I freeze dead in my tracks as I noticed the other moms around me.

I am the only mom in the pool with a 2-piece swimsuit.  No one else.  Just me.

Every other mom is in either a 1-piece swimsuit or a 2-piece tankini with full skin coverage.

I panic.

Is this a skin-protection choice?  Is this a religious choice?  Am I officially the town floozie?  Does anyone even still use the term floozie??

Now, to be clear, I’m not in some skimpy number.  I’m in a full-on “mom bikini” – big ol’ boy shorts, a top that’s “waterslide-proof” (if you know what I mean), and I’m shamelessly showing my tummy stretch marks.  And truthfully, this swimsuit would have been considered “conservative” in our last neighborhood pool. 

But I feel mortifyingly awkward…and inappropriate…and different.

I’m also well aware that this is all completely in my head.  See, we live in a town with the nicest people in America, so there are exactly ZERO people staring at me or making me feel bad.

But I want to crawl under a rock.  I immediately consider how I could fashion some really thick sunscreen around my waist to make it appear like I haven’t forgotten half of my swimsuit at home, but that might get me an even weirder reputation in town.  So I put on my brave-face and just go with it.

I have no idea why I was so bothered by being different.  I’ve always been okay with being myself.

I happily drove my hand-me-down minivan with peeling paint in high school while everyone else had newer and “normal” sedans.  I had no problem opting out of the sorority life while everyone “rushed” during college.  And I proudly stepped out of my corporate career to pursue mom-life while all my peers were leaning in.

Why did my dumb swimsuit matter so much?

Why did I have such a problem being different now?

As it turns out, it would become a complex that I would carry with me for the whole first year of living in our new town.

I would dread pool days.  I would feel funny ordering coffee.  I would think the cashier was judging me when I bought a case of beer with my groceries.

Again, it was all in my head.

But I slowly shrunk into a new, quieter version of myself.  I so desperately wanted to “fit in” to our new tight-knit community, but I was so keenly aware that I felt different.

It took me an entire year (and a few good friends) to remember that no matter where life takes me, I’m supposed to be exactly who I am, mom bikini and all.

Listen – in case no one’s told you recently, you are exactly who you are supposed to be.  Right now.

God doesn’t make accidents.

While none of us are perfect (and never will be), we are perfectly made.  So whether you’re introverted, extroverted, black, white, straight, gay, or you love 2-piece swimsuits instead of 1-piece swimsuits, you are just right - exactly as you are.  Who you are is not an accident.

I’m embarrassed to admit that it took me an entire year to remember that I can lift my chin (and stretch marks) high in my 2-piece swimsuit with whatever beliefs I carry and know perfectly well that I am perfectly made.

If you ever forget that, I hope it takes you far less than a whole year to remember.  And if you haven’t come to realize it (like maybe ever…) let this be the opportunity to begin a journey of accepting yourself, just the way you are…perfectly made.

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But wait, there’s more!! You have to read the Epilogue here to find out what happen to that swimsuit! It’s both hilarious and mortifying…again.