At fifteen, I shot up nine inches in just nine months. My bones ached through the nights, and I outgrew my clothes so quickly that my skinny ankles were always showing below my jeans. I went from average height to towering over everyone in my class.
Even before that, I never felt comfortable in my own skin. Growing up in the late 70s in the US, my body type wasn’t in style. I had curves in places that weren’t admired—thighs and a backside that made me self-conscious. I started dieting as a teenager, and the constant criticism women had for their own bodies and others’ became the soundtrack of my youth.
I carried the belief that my body was flawed and needed controlling well into adulthood. Then, one summer in my early thirties, everything changed. I was recently divorced, and my two kids were spending the summer with their father in Europe. I had a demanding job and rarely took time off, but a friend convinced me to drive with him from Seattle to the Oregon Country Fair. We were both recovering alcoholics, and I was hesitant about a three-day music festival in the middle of nowhere, but I trusted we’d be okay together—he had been sober longer than I had.
I’m not much for the outdoors, but we set up a tent in the performers’ camping area with his friends, who were acrobats and circus performers. For days, we lived in the forest, listening to music and staying up late around campfires. After their shows, the performers would join us, playing instruments and singing. My friend and I, the only sober ones in the group, smoked a lot of cigarettes.
The women were strong, acrobatic, and completely uninhibited. Being around them changed me. Food started to taste incredible. I remember walking down a forest path to a booth that sold granola with berries on a sunny day and savoring the warm, sweet burst in my mouth. My shoulders relaxed, and I felt my feet connect with the earth in a new way, the scent of campfire lingering in my hair and clothes. I was a writer, unpublished, working on a novel late at night after my children were asleep. But this was the first time I’d spent so much time with other artists, and it was exhilarating—like getting a backstage pass to a heaven I never knew existed.
I remember hesitating to take a shower. There was a private stall you could pay for, but everyone used the public showers. I was reluctant, expecting it to bring back awkward memories of gym class.
“Try it,” people said. “It’s magical.”
With some trepidation, I took off all my clothes and stepped onto a large, open-air wooden platform surrounded by trees, under the blue sky and warm air. Shower spigots with multiple nozzles rose from the platform every few feet, and about fifty of us were showering without a stitch of clothing. No one seemed self-conscious; the festival’s deeply hippie vibe extended here too. Young, old, every body type, race, and gender—we were just human beings, stripped of cultural signifiers, sharing that moment together in the woods.
As I lathered my skin, I felt a profound release. A young man who couldn’t walk was carried by two nude friends to an open space under a spigot. I could see on his face that he felt the same freedom and acceptance. His body, like all of ours, was just another expression of being human.
That moment was deeply spiritual for me and marked the beginning of a practice of honoring my body as a source of connection, understanding, pleasure, and guidance.
Now I’m 62, and that perspective has helped me make peace with how age changes a body. I no longer diet; instead, I enjoy the burst of sweetness from raspberries I pick in my garden and pop into my mouth under the summer sun. I’m grateful that my body can still carry me through the water like an arrow, swimming strong and far. I have two young grandchildren, and I hope they will grow up with a kinder relationship to their own bodies than I did.From a young age, we should learn a different message: that our bodies are unique, and that’s something to celebrate. Stephanie Peirolo, an executive coach and author of “The Saint and the Drunk: A Guide to Making the Big Decisions In Your Life,” shares this perspective.
Frequently Asked Questions
Of course Here is a list of helpful and clear FAQs based on the topic
General Beginner Questions
1 What is this about showering with strangers
This refers to organized group showers often in a communal setting like a spa bathhouse or a specific wellness event where people share a shower space
2 Why would anyone do that
People do it for various reasons including challenging personal insecurities experiencing a sense of community embracing body positivity or as part of a cultural or wellness practice
3 Isnt that just awkward and embarrassing
It can feel that way at first but the experience often shows that everyone is focused on their own experience not on judging others This realization can quickly reduce feelings of awkwardness
4 Whats the main benefit of this experience
The primary benefit for many is a dramatic reduction in body anxiety and selfconsciousness Seeing the vast diversity of normal human bodies can help you realize your own body is perfectly fine
5 Where does something like this happen
Places like Korean spas Russian banyas Japanese onsens or some wellness retreats often have communal showering areas as part of their culture
Deeper Advanced Questions
6 How can being naked with strangers improve my body image
It provides direct undeniable evidence that there is no single right way for a body to look This exposure therapy helps break the cycle of comparing yourself to idealized often digitally altered images
7 What if Im the only one who feels insecure
You absolutely will not be Almost everyone feels some level of initial nervousness The shared unspoken understanding of this vulnerability is part of what creates a nonjudgmental atmosphere
8 Could this experience be triggering for someone with severe body dysmorphia
It might be While powerful for many it could be overwhelming for others If you have a diagnosed condition its wise to consult a therapist before pushing your boundaries in this way
9 This sounds like a form of exposure therapy Is that accurate
Yes thats a great way to describe it You are voluntarily exposing yourself to a feared situation in a safe context which allows you to learn that the feared outcome does not occur thereby reducing the anxiety
