My Triumphant Escape from Bikinis, Birth Control and Slut Shaming

Photo by Ryan Moreno on Unsplash

Pregnancy, how I look in a bikini, and being labeled a slut. These were three underlying fears I lived with most of my post-pubescent life.

And then I turned 50.

I was fortunate in that my own meno pretty much — just simply — paused. There wasn’t a lot of spectacle or crisis. A racing heart here, a hot flash there, and then whoops! There she goes! Right on time.

Queue the new normal — so much more normal! I was immediately a fan.

First and foremost, I breathed a sigh of relief at exiting the world of birth control and all related concerns. I stepped off the cycle, bid it farewell, and have never looked back.

I was simultaneously blindsided by an unexpected and visceral sensation as the hands of the ignorant men of the U.S. Congress metaphorically slid out of my uterus. It was emancipating. I cried for joy. They can’t get me anymore.

When the time came that I needed to wear a swimsuit in public, I considered the options. I genuinely couldn’t figure out why I had ever worn a bikini. I studied photos of models in tiny tops and bottoms and remembered all the times I too wore such attire and suffered all of the requisite fears — Am I too bloated? Is there an unacceptable dimple of cellulite somewhere on my body…