This is the last post about Hawaii, I promise. 

But I feel that this is a very important last post because: I wore a bikini and lived to tell about it. 

Seriously, this is a big important step in self-acceptance for me. It started last year when I decided to quit fighting with my naturally wavy hair and stop straightening it like I had for the past 15+ years. 

And this year, before going to Hawaii, I went to Target and spent $8 on a bikini without even trying it on. Future President was with me and I couldn’t be bothered to spend the time in a fitting room while he begged to look at cars and trains. So I bought it, convinced I would be returning it before the trip, but I tried it on at home and, well, I didn’t die while looking at myself in the mirror. 

I should have know that my husband would love it, but I didn’t. It’s hard to love a body that has stretch marks and a poochy stomach, which I still blame on pregnancy. But while I didn’t love it, I knew I could wear it, especially underneath the cute coverups I had bought on super discount from Old Navy. 

In addition to the bikini, I also packed two one-piece bathing suits but I didn’t wear either the entire time we were in Hawaii. 

L. is an amazing friend. She’s also in incredible shape. She encouraged me to wear the bikini and I did, right next to her, the woman with the flat stomach, the woman who runs half marathons. The 30s are the time to be liberated, she told me. The time to be liberated and to love yourself. L. is also very wise. 

So the next time I go to the beach, I’m wearing my bikini, taking off the coverup and getting a bikini-shaped tan. 



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