I took my nine-year-old to swimming class on a humid afternoon, focusing on their excitement more than my own nerves. Most parents wore practical cover-ups. I chose a two-piece swimsuit—not to stand out, but because it was comfortable and let me move freely. Still, I felt different.
When one child pointed at me and burst into tears, the pool went quiet. The reaction wasn’t cruel, just startled—confusion at seeing something unfamiliar. Embarrassment hit first, then worry that I’d somehow done something wrong.
A few parents came over, and instead of criticism, they apologized. Their children, they explained, had never seen stretch marks, scars, or bodies unlike the ones in cartoons. One mother quietly thanked me for being there as I was.
Later, my child asked why the other kid cried. I explained that unfamiliar things can surprise people, but different doesn’t mean bad. They nodded, jumped back in the pool, and swam on. By the end of class, the moment had faded, leaving behind something lighter: a reminder that simply showing up can quietly expand what feels normal.
