When my older sister suggested she, my younger sister, and I go to a spa that required nudity in certain areas, I was concerned. I had in mind the crazy image of some nudist cult with men and women swingin’ their private parts while slurping wheat grass smoothies. My stomach is quite delicate, mind you.
But I got naked in front of people I didn’t know. And it wasn’t a big deal.
I’ve never been one of those brave women who bare all at Bally’s or even change clothes briefly in front of others. A year ago, I would’ve tried to wrap four or five of the hand towels they provided around me. But–pardon the anatomically incorrect pun–I boned up. I took a shower and waded nude in a hot tub in front of women I didn’t know, and it didn’t kill me. No one pointed. No one stared. I didn’t care about anyone else, and no one cared about me.
After soaking in the hot tub, I lay on a table while the esthetician scrubbed my entire body down to the white meat. She saw everything–and I mean everything. It didn’t matter, though. What matters is my skin is baby-bottom smooth. And to top a fabulous morning off, my sister presented us with all-expense paid trips to Jamaica!
So, the moral of the story is simple: No one cares about your hiney or any other parts of you that you obsess over. And if they do, they must have some personal issues. Being nervous just draws negative attention to you, so let it go. Take it off and enjoy being in your skin. Accept it, own it, love it.
Just don’t do it like Erykah Badu on a busy Dallas street.