I’ve always thought of aging as being like a good wine: it becomes better with age, you get more at ease in your own skin, and you start to care less about what other people think.
That is, until the day my daughter-in-law Emily told me, straight out of the blue, that I was too old to be wearing that particular bikini. I was sixty-two years old, vibrant, and fortunate to be in wonderful health.
I’d always eaten well, exercised frequently, and kept a cheerful outlook on life. Hence, I never could have predicted how deeply those words would wound when they came out of her mouth.
This all started on a Saturday afternoon in the early summer. I received an invitation from my son Mark and Emily to spend a day at the beach with them and my two grandchildren, Olivia and Max.
The idea of spending time with the family excited me, especially because they had been so busy lately. My happy place has always been the beach, a haven where cares are washed away by the sound of the waves and the sensation of sand between my toes.
That morning, I was going through my clothes when I came upon this gorgeous swimsuit that I had bought a few weeks prior. I felt young and confident wearing this one-piece dress with a delicate, exquisite design in a deep blue color.
The outfit was sophisticated but stylish, the kind that gave you a slight elevation when you wore it. It made me feel proud of the curves I had acquired over decades of life and hugged my body in all the right places.
The sea wind was beautiful and the sun was shining when we got to the beach. With their laughter resonating throughout the atmosphere, Olivia and Max dashed towards the surf. Emily yelled to me just as I was going to join them.
“Mom, wow! That’s…quite a swimwear,” she remarked, hinting at something I couldn’t quite identify in her tone.
“Thank you, Emily,” I grinned back, assuming she was appreciating my decision.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit… much for someone your age?” she continued, nevertheless.
It was there. That statement would repeat over and over in my head for days, weeks, and maybe even years. Despite the day’s warmth, her comments chilled me to the bone like a bolt of lightning.
My smile wavered, and I turned to face her, expecting to get a glimpse of humor or a suggestion that she was kidding. However, none was present. She meant business.
With the waves roaring in the background, seemingly mocking the storm building inside of me, I stood there, shocked. Words failed me when I tried to express something, anything at all.
Instead, my heart sank in my chest as I turned aside and moved in the direction of the sea, my feet sinking into the sand. I went through the motions, played with my grandchildren, and spoke with Mark and Emily for the remainder of the day, but I was unable to get over my shame.
I was thinking about Emily’s comment all night long as I lay in bed. Was I really that old to be swimming in that suit? Had I reached some undefined boundary where people in society want you to start hiding, to disappear into the background, to cease being a living being and just be present?
That idea enraged me. Who was she to dictate to me what to wear and how to live? My daughter-in-law included. I had put a lot of effort into getting to this point in my life, and I wasn’t going to allow anyone tell me how to enjoy it.
But underneath the rage came a profound, aching hurt. My confidence was rattled by Emily’s statements, which caused me to question my own abilities in a manner I hadn’t in years. It was as though I was being assessed by an invisible jury as well as by her, who had already determined that I was too old and should respond accordingly.
I made the decision the following day that I would not let this go. I needed to talk to Emily about how her words had affected me, not because I was angry. I wanted to have a cool, collected chat, so I invited her over for coffee.
I could see she knew something wasn’t quite right when she arrived. The sunlight shining through the windows as we sat in the living room gave the space a warm glow that seemed to contradict the tension in the air.
“Emily, I need to talk to you about something,” I said, maintaining a steady tone despite my beating heart. “What you said at the beach yesterday—it really hurt me.”
She appeared shocked, even shocked. “What did I say?”
I observed her look shift from one of uncertainty to recognition to maybe a hint of remorse as I repeated what she had said.
Her voice softened, “Oh, Mom, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” “I just had a thought… I’m not sure, maybe you should have worn something more… acceptable.”
“Appropriate?” I repeated myself, experiencing the pain once more. “Emily, who makes the appropriate decisions? Is there a set of regulations that state you can’t wear a certain item of clothing after a certain age? In the bathing suit, I felt wonderful. I felt empowered and even beautiful as a result. And in a few sentences, you stole that away from me.”
Her eyes downcast, she was silent for a moment. “Mom, I apologize. I suppose I didn’t consider it in that manner. I didn’t mean to be cruel. I simply believed that you could feel more at ease in a different outfit.”
I exhaled, attempting to control my annoyance. “Soothing? Emily, I’ve tried to be at ease in my own skin for the most of my life. It’s taken me years to get this position, where I can wear whatever I want and feel good about it, regardless of what other people think. And then, all of a sudden, you cast doubt on that.”
I could tell Emily didn’t mean to hurt me because she appeared to be truly sorry. However, the harm had already been done, and I was unsure of how to repair it.
“Mom, once again, I really apologize,” she added. “I didn’t intend to hurt your feelings. I suppose all I was doing was projecting my own fears. Sometimes I become a little jealous of how at ease and self-assured you appear.”
Her disclosure surprised me. Emily was young, attractive, and loved by her family, so I always thought she had it all together. But when I heard her acknowledge that she was insecure, I began to wonder whether this was really more about her than it was about me.
“Emily, we all have insecurities,” I added kindly. But we must not allow them to control how we behave toward others. I’ve been around long enough to realize that confidence is an internal quality that requires daily effort.
It matters more how we feel about ourselves than what we wear. And regardless of what people think, I’m going to wear that swimsuit if it makes me feel good.”
Tears filled her eyes as she nodded. “You’re correct, mother. I had crossed the line. I swear I’ll perform better.
I extended my arm to grab her hand and gave it a light squeeze. Emily, we’re a family. We must encourage one another rather than undermine one another. Furthermore, I want you to know that no matter what, I will always be here for you.”
I felt a wave of calmness pass over me as she smiled through her tears. The hurt was still there, but we had cleared the air, and I knew we would get past it.
But when I thought back on our talk that evening, I saw that even though I had spoken with Emily, I still felt like I needed to take care of myself. Something that would enable me to rebuild my lost self-confidence.
Then it dawned on me that I needed to discipline her, but not in a severe or spiteful way. No, I had to demonstrate to her by my deeds that age was nothing more than a number and that confidence and self-worth never faded.
I woke up the following morning feeling like I had a mission. I was going to use Emily’s words and make them work for me. In a few weeks, there was a local beachwear fashion show, so I made the decision to compete.
People of all ages were invited to participate in the charitable event. Although I had never done anything similar before, I was delighted by the prospect. I wanted to show Emily and myself that I could still look good in a swimsuit and confidently strut my stuff, regardless of what other people thought.
I registered for the event and got to work getting ready. I realized it had more to do with how I embraced who I was at this point in my life and how I conducted myself than it did with the bikini. I started rehearsing my walk while facing the mirror, telling myself repeatedly that I was attractive and that I deserved every scar, curve, and line on my body.
On the day of the fashion show, I felt both anxious and excited. I could see Emily’s surprise when she discovered what I was doing; she and Mark were in the audience with the children. It seemed appropriate, somehow, to wear the same turquoise bathing suit that had sparked all of this controversy.
The enthusiasm of the throng filled the air as I walked down the runway, but my attention was on something more important. I was taking back my identity, telling myself that regardless of my age, I was a strong, self-assured woman deserving of respect. When I got to the finish
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