True colours

It’s October half-term so that can only mean one thing – it’s our annual return to Butlin’s, hurrah.

Another chance to meet and greet with Billy Bear, another chance to eat massive breakfasts (Tec actually medically demands the fat content of a full English everyday*) and another chance to brave the Space Bowl.

I’m aiming to embrace the insane whirling dervish of water with fresh confidence this year, emboldened by the following key facts:

a) I can feel the water again which is surely a help and
b) I shall be wearing a spectacular vintage style swimsuit – all 50s glamour and bright red cherries

It’s a rather lovely item of clothing, first debuted at our daughter’s birthday swimming party last month where hubby and I both got in the water to oversee 20 over-excited eight and nine-year-olds.

When I mentioned to other mums that I’d be going in, the main reaction was “oooh, that’s brave.” Not, interestingly, for the fact I was leaping into what was effectively chlorinated kid soup, but for the fact I was wearing a swimsuit in front of other school parents.

This aspect of the party honestly hadn’t occurred to me. Possibly because I was mainly worried about my daughter’s friends drowning/ injuring themselves or each other/vomiting in the pool.

But it made me think.

As previously noted I do not have the magazine idea of a perfect body. But more than that, thanks to MS, the idea of a genuinely perfect body – that is one that is perfect in health not looks - is a totally impossible dream.

I can diet it, I can pamper it and I can push it – but I cannot make it do what I want it to. I cannot repair it and I cannot make it better.

I certainly have sympathy with friends who are unhappy with their bodies, who want to lose weight or tone their thighs or increase or decrease their busts – but I’m also sad for them.

I’m sad that their insecurities are stopping them appreciating what a disease-free body is, what it means to be able to enjoy their health.

We are living in an age of insane scrutiny of woman’s bodies, of judgement and shame, of doubt and stigma, where the style has become worth more, much more, than the substance.

I really don’t want my daughter being exposed to this culture. I really don’t want my friends to feel belittled by it. I really don’t want a world where ‘brave’ means putting on a functional item of clothing.

As someone whose body is never, ever going to be perfect, I want my friends to feel proud of the beauty, strength and health they do have and not dwell on the perceived flaws that they don’t.

I want them to wear a bikini, a swimsuit, a tankini, a wetsuit and dive straight in.

And for those of us who, for whatever reason, are not blessed with a healthy body, well I like to reflect on this:

:: True colours by Cyndi Lauper

*This is not actually medically true. But for the purposes of Butlin’s enjoyment it is.