These past few balmy, warm months, I think I’ve finally figured out how to “summer,” again.

I remember that I used to know how to summer…that I would share mango smoothies with people I love and run to the beach barefoot with cut off shorts and a bikini top on. I remember packing my backpack with sunblock, a towel, and a book and feeling as though I was entirely prepared for the day, without any worries to hinder me from the possible adventures that lay ahead.

Somewhere between a couple relationships and a few years of intense time at university, I lost my luster for summer, the beach, and true uninhibited fun altogether. When not buried in school work, I focused on my significant others, fashion and makeup. I was engrossed in my manifested appearance, and worked hard on my every day aesthetic.

This is not to say that my outlets at the time were inherently bad, I still have a deep love for fashion, and consider myself a decent makeup artist. I just think that perhaps the vain, materialistic aspect of these endeavors took over the better part of my attempt to curb my image.

I don’t really know when or why my “image” became so important in the first place. I think some weight gain and depression issues last year mentally gaged me into the direction of trying to best present myself. I picked clothes that masked my body, makeup styles that most dramatically enhanced my features. I tried anything I could to look “good” or “pretty.”

Feeling wildly unattractive for a year is just kinda crappy. There’s no other way to put it. Not really for the benefit of others or for affirmation, but feeling attractive for myself and my own confidence was not in the cards for me last year.

As I wrapped up my time at undergrad, I gained twenty pounds, stayed indoors all the time, and rarely did anything with my free time other than eat very poorly and watch Netflix. As embarrassing as this all is to admit, I think it’s really crucial to talk about. I didn’t accept the state of my body until a few days before graduation when I was struggling to get up a flight of stairs that I had used to run up only a couple years prior. This realization sparked my want to better my physical health, weight loss simply being a part of that goal.

In the process of bettering my overall health (and the byproduct of losing the weight that I gained), I have seen more than ever that my image of myself has nothing to do with how heavy or light, chubby or fit that I am. It is truly only within my acceptance and appreciation of myself that I will ever “like” or “love” my body.

Fast forward to summer of 2016 after a full year of working on my health. I remember the first really hot day of summer in early June, and thinking to myself that there was no way I could put a bikini on and go out to the pool. I thought everyone would stare at me, my lumps and bumps, my hips and marks and other “undesirables” that decorated my vessel.

I put on my very old bikini from maybe circa 2010 (as I have always thought to myself that I am not deserving of buying a new swim suit unless I perfect my body) and sat in my kitchen for maybe an hour.

I sat at the table and looked down at my stomach, at my thighs. I cursed my existence and wondered why after all this hard work and time spent making myself healthier and more capable, I still hated my body.

I cannot tell you exactly what happened in my mind at the moment, I wasn’t inspired by some Instagram post, or reassured by a body positive article, but I believe my thought process was something along the lines of “Screw this.”

It was hot, it was a beautiful day, and I am a person that has always adored the water and the experience of swimming. Can you imagine that I was punishing myself, depriving myself of a passion, something as innocuous as a swim in the pool, simply because of my mere existence? I had literally kept myself from a bikini and swim for YEARS because I was afraid and hateful towards myself.

The instant that my body broke the surface of that blue-green pool water, I knew this summer would be different. The sweet relief of cool, refreshing weightlessness reminded me of some pretty basic knowledge: everyone deserves to have a good time and to be comfortable in their own skin. I refused to spend another minute keeping myself from enjoying the summer sun. I refused to keep punishing myself.

My personal Instagram account very strangely and accurately represents my quick transition from a non-bikini-wearer to a person that swims every single day and frequents the beach at least four times a week.

Early June, I went out and bought cheap swimming goggles and a great one piece to do laps in. Suddenly, a day without swimming felt like a day without breathing. For the whole month of June, I built up my courage as I swam every day at my community pool. I got a little tan, I bought a couple new super cute swim suits (because I deserve a bikini just as much as anyone else- and you do, too!), and I stayed dedicated to trying to feel comfortable in my own skin.

By July fourth, I posted my first ever bikini clad photo in three years. I made it a #bodypositive post to illustrate my personal need to acknowledge that regardless of shape and size, I was going to rock this bikini and enjoy the holiday to my fullest ability. My Insta following is rather humble if not minimal, so I wasn't expecting to reach the masses with my cheesy personal post. To my surprise, I received a couple messages thanking me for being brave and “putting it all out there.” I felt inspired, and posted another swim suit photo with the caption: “How to have a bikini body: 1. Have a body. 2. Put on a bikini.” Again, I received great response, and felt a trend beginning. Each time I posted one of these photos, I would hesitate before hitting the “check mark” button on Instagram. I wasn’t fearless in these acts of self-love and appreciation, I was never 100% comfortable, not for a second! But I had to prove to myself that I could slowly begin to stretch the boundaries of my teenie-tiny comfort zone. I have always been a fan of body positive pages and for years have told friends and family to love their bodies and wear what they want…so why wasn’t I doing the same. I wanted to end the hypocritical cycle.

Like magic, I began to believe my own words. I am body positive. I felt happier when I looked in the mirror. I kept thanking the universe for my true luck and blessings to have such a healthy body and such a beautiful life. How could I ever have been unappreciative of my newly healthy human vessel? How could I ever feel undeserving of any right to public swimming, or a treat like a new swimsuit?

Of course there were days I’d be at the pool, full of families, kids, and model-esque figures alike. I sometimes would crawl in my skin, feeling undeserving of being there, too. Feeling shame for my tummy, for my arms, for my thighs. (I am laughing to myself now thinking back to last year when I wouldn’t wear shorts, wouldn’t wear a tank top without a cover, wouldn’t wear anything remotely revealing for fear of looking “fat”…I would boil and sweat in discomfort because of own shame. If anyone feels this way, DON’T. Put on a tank and a pair of shorts, you have every right and you shouldn’t literally physically suffer because of standards set by a materialistic, sex obsessed and money driven society.)

Anyway, sometimes I still feel this way. I feel as though I am not skinny enough to stand on the beach amongst so many fit, tan, Greek-god-looking people. My thoughts turn, when I feel this way, though. I now resolve into the notion that shaming myself and comparing myself is a joke, and an unnecessary evil.

All of July I have been at the beach, in nothing more than a swim suit, with a makeup-less face (not to shame makeup, makeup is rad and one of my favorite modes of expression. Lately, I personally have found it rather freeing and empowering to be out and about without any makeup on) and tangled, salty hair.

I finally feel like I can breathe again. This summer, I can throw a few items in my backpack and be on my way. Sweating in the summer heat as I truck to the ocean and then jumping into the frigid water is the most rewarding feeling in the world.

I’m sitting at my kitchen table now, in the same spot I sat in two months ago, writing this wearing a pair of old cut up shorts and a strapless bikini top. I am comfortable, I am safe. I look at my thick, bronzed thighs and think of what a strong, curvy woman I am growing to be.

This is not a story of ultimate victory and feeling complete, but rather of little victories and feeling accomplished in my progress as a healthy and happy human.

People are messy and complex! We have issues and insecurities, secrets and worries. I see no shame in wanting to share our stories and hardships, times of growth and renewal.

Yesterday, I was wading in rolling waves at one of my local beaches, scanning the horizon for oncoming barrels that may be too big for me to handle. I did this without fear, but rather a mindset that no matter how big the onslaught, I would do my best to take on the break.

Sometimes a little water can wash clean years of feeling inadequate, a kind of baptism into a sense of living in the now, or the rebirth of the self I was once: a rinsing and shedding of the layers of cloth and fear that kept me from rightfully spending summers in the sun.