How Visiting Nudist Beaches is Helping Me Overcome Negative Body Image

By Jessica Minnaar

Why is it that I can barely look at myself in a mirror without crying, but I can strip naked on a beach full of strangers?

I was a burly child. Low self-esteem led me to comfort eating my way through too many of my Gran’s melt-in-your-mouth chocolate brownies when no one was looking. I was even nicknamed ‘slob’ by my mum, and bullied by others for all the usual stereotypes: fat, weird, quiet and an unusual surname. Growing up through some difficult traumas led to a series of very bad coping mechanisms. These in turn led me to develop an eating disorder by my late teens. A skeletal body with a BMI of 15.6 is not somewhere I ever imagined myself being, but it’s where I ended up.

I remember being given an exercise from an eating disorder psychotherapist. It involved looking at yourself in the mirror each day for a week and finding something different that you liked every time. Oh my, did I struggle. I would cry and scream; I would avoid the task at all costs. Even the thought of it was so overwhelming that I would quickly spiral down into a deep dark hole. Safe to say that I went back for my next session empty-handed, distraught that I had failed yet again at the tasks given to me.

Fast forward into the future, and I am now at a healthy weight. I have the energy to function, but still a slightly destructive relationship with food – a daily battle that I’m working on. Do I still freak out over the amount of oil used in cooking? Oh yes. Do I have panic attacks in supermarkets if I forget my carefully planned weekly shopping list? More often than I care to admit. 

When was the last time I saw myself naked in a mirror? Honestly, I can’t remember. Even looking at myself fully clothed is gut-wrenching. Naked is a no-go area. And I am ‘recovered’. I’m sorry, but how ignorant is that word when it's used in the ED world? Are you ever fully recovered from this treacherous mental illness? 

Given all this, how can I go to a nude beach and sit there TOTALLY relaxed (let’s be honest, the internal eating disorder voice is fiercely screaming at me the entire time) and enjoy the sun and the sand? And even go swimming in my birthday suit?! 

Imagine this. You’re lying there on your beach towel amongst the smooth sand, feeling the sun beating down and hearing the waves crashing against the rock. A few metres away, there’s a middle-aged lady with sun-kissed skin, luscious hair, a tummy that shows that she’s held a child at some point in her life. Sitting up creates beautiful stomach rolls, and her tiger stretch marks glisten in the sun along her legs. Is she beautiful? Yes. 

Across the way, there is a man who is very curvy but obviously strong. He walks with purpose as he strides towards the sea. Cellulite wobbles as his hips sway. His penis is free. His head is proud on his shoulders. The confidence he exudes is overwhelming. Is he beautiful? Yes.

Leaning over by the rocks is an elderly couple. The gentleman has his arm around the woman as they laugh. Sagging skin shows years of wisdom, and there are scars from adventures they have undertaken together. Grey hair twinkles in the light. Are they beautiful? Probably the most beautiful of them all. 

We are conditioned to think that these ‘imperfect’ parts of our body are not normal. We are taught that people who carry children shouldn’t show off their battle scars from birth; our skin should stay perfect throughout our lives and never show a blemish; penises should only be porn sized. Are you curvy? Are you slim? Are you muscly? What you are is beautiful.

Why do I judge my body so harshly for things I find so beautiful on others? Everyone I described from the beach radiated this confidence that I find challenging to tap into. However, every time I go to a nudist beach (I’m not a regular: I’m not brave enough in the Scottish weather), I find it gets easier and easier. I will force myself to set up camp in a quiet corner, apprehensively take off my clothes and dash towards the sea with everything on show. 

I refrain from covering my lumpy, bumpy bits that hurt every time I think of them; I try to abandon those thoughts. I crave freedom within my body. Sometimes, pushing yourself into a zone of vulnerability is how you reach that sense of liberation. I am surrounded by other people who are letting themselves go. I am safe. I am beautiful, just like them. 

When I pack up to leave, I put my clothes back on. In swarms the negative thoughts about my body. Maybe it’s the clothes that are the issue?