There’s a photograph somewhere of me in a pool as a kid. Hair wet, sunscreen half rubbed in, probably begging for just “five more minutes” before getting out. Summer felt endless back then, the women in my life made sure of it.
My grandma kept her freezer stocked with ice cream sandwiches and popsicles so there was always a sweet treat waiting after swimming. Friends’ moms planned trips to the lake, packed snacks, coordinated waterpark days, and somehow found ways to fill those long stretches between June and September. My aunt reminded us constantly that her pool was open if we wanted to stop by. They created summer for us.
Looking back now, I realize something else too. In so many of those memories, the women were nearby, but not fully inside them. My grandma sat at the edge of the pool talking while we swam. We would beg her to get in with us. She assured us she would get in the pool later in the evening. I’m not sure she ever did.
My aunt had a rule. She wouldn’t get in the pool unless it was over eighty degrees. We watched the thermostat like it was a game show. The second it hit eighty, we celebrated because maybe this would be the day she joined us.
As a kid, I never questioned it. As an adult woman, I think I understand it.
I know what it feels like to stand in a swimsuit and suddenly notice everything. The tan line that never evened out. The chipped toenail polish. Legs that need shaving. The extra weight you told yourself you would lose by summer.
The women who raised me lived through the early 2000s, an era that was loud about what women’s bodies were supposed to look like. Thin was in. It was on magazine covers at the grocery store checkout, in movies, on TV, in conversations. It felt like being small was the price of admission. The message was everywhere, if you wanted to wear the bikini, get in the pool, take up space in summer, your body needed to earn it first.
Looking back now, I wonder how many women sat at the edge of the pool because of that. How many promised themselves and others that maybe later they would get in the water. How many waited for the version of themselves they thought was more deserving of sunshine, swimsuits, and being seen. But none of that mattered to me as a kid.
I didn’t care if my grandma had fuzzy legs. I didn’t notice if my aunt’s stomach was soft or if someone skipped shaving that week. I wasn’t looking for cellulite, chipped toenail polish, tan lines, or whether anyone looked “bikini ready.” I just wanted them there.
I wanted them in the water with us. I wanted cannonballs, splashing, and the kind of memories that happen when someone stops watching from the sidelines and joins in. I think about that a lot now because I see how many women are still waiting.
Waiting until they lose the weight.
Waiting until they feel more confident.
Waiting until they look different.
Waiting until they believe they’ve finally earned the right to enjoy the season they’re already living in.
The hard part is that summer doesn’t wait. The pool opens, the lake warms up, the days get shorter and eventually the seasons change.
The people who love you are not measuring your body while you laugh in the water. They’re not comparing you to some version of yourself from ten years ago. They just want you. Not the future version. Not the goal weight version. Not the one who finally feels ready. The version standing here right now.
So if summer is here and you’ve been standing at the edge of the pool waiting to feel ready, consider this your invitation.
Get in. The water is fine. And there are memories waiting for you.
