Author: Liz Dawes
share

This week Liz Dawes discusses the horror of revealing all to a new partner…

I’m at a point in my life where lots of my female friends are single (by which I mean neither married nor in a long term relationship).  I count myself in this category, since my divorce has recently come through (Hurrah! Champagne!) and I have a fairly new BF (quite a bit younger than me – Hurrah! Champagne!)

This all sounds very exciting to our married counterparts, but there’s a drawback to which, over drinks the other night, none of us wanted to admit.  However, the truth will out, (or at least it will when assisted by wine) and so we discovered that we all had the same fear in common: that we would most likely be getting our kit off, in front of a new person, for the first time in ages.  The horror!

Back in the day, booze, youth and baby-free bodies made nakedness less of a challenge.  Since then, a couple of ten pounders, a brace of over-tired doctors and their scalpels, and the sewing skills of some uber-rushed nurses mean things are not quite as they once were.  Apparently I spoke for us all when I wondered aloud if getting into bed with me might be less like living your Fifty Shades fantasy, and more like shoving your hands in a bowl full of jelly. 

In many ways it’s a strange admission.  We are, after all, intelligent and articulate grown-ups, perfectly capable of understanding that worth is not dictated by appearance, and good sex has little to do with looks.  Why then were the feelings of embarrassment so universal? 

One woman admitted that she did compare herself to photo-shopped celeb snaps and, in her own mind, fell way short.  While she knows this is absurd, she still feels it.  Maybe to that extent media images are to blame.  They seep into our unconscious and redefine “normal” to a beauty that is unachievable – even by those in the photograph.

Others felt that the father of their children had gone on a journey with them through pregnancy and childbirth – and so had come to love their bodies at least in part because they were marked by the production of shared children.  Much the same was felt about long term partners who had grown older (and baggier) alongside us.  Perhaps we worry that a new partner hasn’t seen the beauty of the journey, only the damage at the end. 

Whatever the reason, we also had to admit that none of the men in our lives seemed to see us as we saw ourselves.  None of us had been given anything other than compliments, and while we suspected some potential partners were more sincere than others, the fact remained that while we were fretting over a bulge here and a wobble there, the blokes were all hoping that a roll in the hay wouldn’t be out of the question.

This was, I think, our lightbulb moment.  During our long term relationships, we had been distracted by knowing one man perhaps too well, and had forgotten the essential nature of all men.  Boys (the ones who like girls) like naked girls the best.  Fat, thin, cute, quirky, unconventional, hairy, wobbly or muscly, their favourite feature is a distinct lack of clothing.  When you accept this truth, you see that, to the extent you ever craved male approval of your looks, you already had it, being as you are both female and (potentially at least) naked.

So really, forget the saggy bits.  I’ve said it before but it bears repeating: You could be wearing a diving helmet and tutu.  He’s still going in.