I Went to a Nudist Resort. Here’s What It Taught Me About My Body

Weirdly, though, I wanted to fit in, and being the only person wrapped in a towel made me feel like a prude. I decided to rip the bandage off.

I don’t care how body-confident you are, but suddenly being naked in the open air for the first time since you were a toddler is nerve-racking. And, unlike when you were a toddler, you’re instantly smacked with an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. There were no layers to hide in, no fabric to conceal, just me, incredibly visible and on display.

As we started encountering other naked people, though, my focus shifted from my body to theirs. Specifically, where do I direct my gaze so that it won’t be awkward? But also this: These folks, who I presume were regulars, seemed at ease being naked, happy even. And their bodies definitely weren’t perfect.

I started to relax. It’s amazing how quickly you can assimilate to something when everyone else is doing it. Peer pressure outstripped my self-consciousness; in that moment, the only thing that would have seemed weird or gross was to cover myself with the towel in my hand. It made me wonder what it was about my body I had been ashamed of before.

At the pool, we spread our towels on the lounge chairs and vigorously applied sunscreen. I definitely didn’t want anything burning. As we sunbathed, I took in the scene: The pool was largely empty except for a few older men playing volleyball and a few couples relaxing.

Reclining on a lounger, I could feel like a Greek statue, somewhat safe, almost beautiful. But statues are impervious to the harsh effects of gravity, and I feared what leaping into the pool or movement of any kind would look like, the unsightly ripples and wobbles it would generate.

I usually enter any body of water painfully slowly, dipping a toe and getting used to the temperature an inch at a time, but now I gritted my teeth and plunged in, grateful that the shimmering water would distort at least my lower half. I wasn’t prepared to like it so much.

I love the water but had never been skinny-dipping before. I would never have guessed how much better it felt to twist and turn and glide in the water au naturel. How could the absence of a few pieces of Lycra make such a difference? But it did. I felt freer, and faster, I loved the feel of water on my bare skin and how buoyant my breasts were. I glanced at my boyfriend, and yup, the water made everything buoyant.

Regardless, the experience didn’t feel sexual in the least. If anything, it reminded me of that long-ago carefree time when I could enjoy and appreciate the way my body felt and what it could achieve without attaching any judgment to it.

I felt decidedly more relaxed as we toweled off, enough to go for a walk along the paved path through the woods. Walking naked in the woods with him felt like a scene out of the Old Testament, sans fig leaves.

We passed campers and campsites of people who stayed here for weeks or months out of the year, and I kind of got the appeal. It was nice, in a strange, surreal sort of way, to be naked and have your biggest worry be poison ivy and not, “I’ll never have a thigh gap.”

Out here, in the woods, with like-minded people, you could let go of the societal pressure to look like a department store mannequin. I don’t think it was a coincidence that the average guest at Goodland Country Club was close to retirement age. There’s something about aging that equalizes everyone. It makes you realize that all bodies get old and wrinkled and saggy.

It’s natural, it’s inevitable, so why struggle so hard to fight it? A nudist resort where everyone looked like a Stepford Wife would have been way, way creepier than what I encountered. To me, the bodies on display were natural, normal and beautiful.

I wouldn’t call myself a convert. I love clothes too much, and I still don’t even like to sleep in the nude. But I refuse to hate my stretch marks and sags anymore. My body is doing exactly what it was born to do, and I’m proud of it, however it looks. And I plan to take it skinny-dipping at any age.

AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.