When I was 15, I shot up nine inches in just nine months. My bones throbbed at night. I quickly outgrew my clothing, revealing slender ankles beneath my blue jeans. I transitioned from average height to towering above my classmates.
I had felt uneasy in my own body long before that. Growing up in the US in the late 70s, my body type was not considered fashionable. I had curves in places that went unappreciated, with thighs and a backside that drew attention in ways that made me feel uncomfortable. I was a teenager when I first began dieting, and the criticisms from women about their bodies and the bodies of others quickly became a recurring theme throughout my youth.
I carried the belief that my body was flawed and needed to be managed into my adult years. Until one summer, in my early 30s. I found myself divorced, with my two children spending the summer with their father in Europe. Though I worked a demanding job and rarely took time off, a friend convinced me to drive with him from Seattle to the Oregon Country Fair. We were both in recovery from alcohol, and I was uncertain about attending a three-day music festival in a remote area, but I thought we would manage – he had been sober longer than I had.
Although I’m not one for outdoor activities, my friend and I set up a tent in the camping area for performers alongside his friends, who were acrobats and circus artists. For several days, we lived in the woods, enjoying music and spending late hours around a campfire. After their public performances, the artists joined us to play instruments and sing. My friend and I, the only sober individuals among us, smoked a lot of cigarettes.
The women were incredibly strong, acrobatic, and free-spirited. Being in their company transformed me. Food began to taste richer. I recall a sunny day, walking along a forest trail to a stall selling granola with berries, experiencing the sweet burst in my mouth. My shoulders relaxed. I felt a new connection to the ground beneath my feet, with the campfire scent lingering in my hair and clothes. I was an unpublished writer, working on a novel late at night while my children slept. This was the first time I had spent an extended period among other artists, and it was exhilarating. It felt like receiving a backstage pass to a realm of creativity I had never known existed.
I remember heading to take a shower – there was a private stall available for a fee, but everyone opted for the public showers. I hesitated, fearful of reliving the awkward experiences of gym class showers from my youth.
Give it a try, others encouraged. It’s enchanting.
Feeling apprehensive, I stripped off all my clothes and stepped onto a large open-air wooden platform. We were surrounded by trees, beneath the blue sky and warm air. Shower spouts with multiple nozzles jutted from the platform every few feet, and there were dozens of us – probably around 50 people – all showering without any clothing. No one appeared self-conscious: the festival’s deep hippy atmosphere extended into this space; young, old, every shape, race, and gender. We were simply human beings, stripped of the cultural symbols of clothing, united in that moment in the woods.
I lathered my skin, feeling a profound relief. A young man who couldn’t walk was carried by two of his friends, all of them nude, to a spot under a spigot. I could see on his face that he experienced the same sense of liberation and acceptance. His body, too, was just one of the many forms of being human.
It was a deeply spiritual experience for me, marking the beginning of a spiritual journey to honor my body as a means of connection, understanding, enjoyment, and guidance.
Now at 62, that perspective has aided me in finding peace with how age alters a body. I no longer engage in dieting; I relish the sweetness of raspberries from my garden when I pop them into my mouth under the summer sun. I am thankful that my body can still propel me through water like an arrow, swimming powerfully and far. With two young grandchildren, I hope they will grow up embracing a different narrative: that every body is unique, and that is a wonderful thing.
