Summer is for every body, especially yours

Summer has always been framed as a season of preparations. For me, it’s a countdown to everything that embodies freedom: the warmth of the sun on my skin in a sunlit park, the rush of fresh air as I step out of a stuffy lecture hall, the click of a laptop closing and the whisper of pages turning in a new novel. It’s returning home to the laughter of once-distant friends and reclaiming the time that university has stolen. Summer dangles perfection, and there’s this ache to measure up.   

There was this pressure for everything to be ‘just right’. The day spent sharing anecdotes with friends in the open garden didn’t feel right unless my tan lines were where they should be; sunset didn’t feel worth posting unless my silhouette framed the body I wanted in its shadow; even the simple act of biting into a ripe peach at the weekend market felt wrong unless my hands looked slender and manicured in the golden hour light. Reading these words now, I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all—how something as fleeting as a season could turn the rare two months of freedom into the opposite.   

The ocean doesn’t weigh me before it lets me into its warm waters. Even the ice cream that drips down my chin tastes just as sweet, regardless of what size jeans I wear

The realisation came during last year’s heatwave, in a dressing room’s unforgiving light. I stood holding two sizes of the same swimsuit, not deciding which fit, but which hid. As I contemplated, I saw myself through the mirror’s harsh lights. Yet, what I saw wasn’t my body, but its armour. Tense shoulders, manicured fingers fussing at fabric, back hunched over my stomach like a shield. That whole summer, I’d appointed myself photographer while friends enjoyed the cooling waters of the lake. My camera roll was filled with images of my friends’ crooked smiles and sunburned shoulders of floaties around their waists. Everybody looked happy, yet the only person missing from those joy-filled frames was me, sacrificed to a standard that existed nowhere but in my head.  

Don’t mistake me, not that singular moment that changed my perspective on my body. It was all the tiny moments combined that reached the same question: Am I happy? When the answer was yes, it was always conditional, an exhausting exchange that always demanded more. When the answer was unanswered, the silence could not hide the truth that my mind tried to dismiss: joy and happiness aren’t a transaction.  

As the pursuit of perfection waned, deeper truths quietly emerged: the sun doesn’t discriminate. It pours its light over stretch marks, scars, soft bellies, and sharp collarbones. The ocean doesn’t weigh me before it lets me into its warm waters. Even the ice cream that drips down my chin tastes just as sweet, regardless of what size jeans I wear.   

You’d never reply with the cruelty we reserve for ourselves, and it’s clear that the love we have to give to the bodies that surround us is limitless

This hard-won clarity changed how I treated myself, both mind and body. It arrived slowly, but once it took root, everything shifted, and I saw myself saying yes to things unconditionally. Yes, I would love to go for a swim. Yes, let’s take photos by the beach. Yes, I look absolutely stunning and everyone will pass out at the sight of me. I got tired of treating joy and happiness as a reward, and these small acts of truce made all the difference:  

1. Treat yourself with the same respect you show your best friend.
Imagine getting ready with your best friend. After a while of silence, your friend points at their thighs and says, ‘Ugh, look at these.’ You wouldn’t gasp and reply, ‘Finally, you noticed!’. No, you would call them ridiculous and shove an ice cream into their hand. Perhaps, even launch into a monologue about how infuriating it is that they don’t see themselves as beautiful as you see them. You’d never reply with the cruelty we reserve for ourselves, and it’s clear that the love we have to give to the bodies that surround us is limitless. The next time you criticise your reflection, ask: ‘Would I say this to someone I love?’. The disconnect is jarring. Your body deserves the same fierce loyalty your heart gives to your loved ones.     

2. Set boundaries. Protect your peace.
Not every comment about bodies deserves your time or should be a test-ground for your patience. When a relative, acquaintance, or friend tries to test their luck and make a joke or comment about your body, remember that you are under zero obligation to defend your life choices, laugh it off to keep the peace or stick around for the encore. Instead, try a polite redirect, such as: ‘What a strange thing to say out loud! Anyway, how’s your gout doing?’. Or, just exit the room. It’s your every right to protect the peace you earned.  

Old habits don’t disappear overnight, but every summer I waste worrying about my body is a summer I’ll never get back

3. Count colours, not calories.
Instead of obsessing over numbers on a nutrition label, focus on filling your plate with vibrant, nourishing foods that give you energy and make you feel alive. When you start seeing meals as an opportunity to nourish rather than restrict, eating becomes something to look forward to; your body will thank you for the variety, and your mind will thank you for the freedom. That chocolate cake? It’s just another shade of joy. Listen to your cravings without guilt: sometimes that’s a crisp salad, and sometimes it’s a kebab at Spicy Bite after a night out.  

4. Be gentle on yourself.
Let’s be honest: some days you’ll feel like an unstoppable goddess, and others like a lazy toad. Again, we’re not built to be perfect, and it’s alright to not always feel exceptional in our skin. When the mirror feels like an opponent, don’t escalate to full warfare, but call a truce. Skip the workout if you’re exhausted. Eat the cookie without forming a repentance plan. Your worth isn’t a stock price that crashes if you’re mentally low and treat yourself with an off-day. Your mental health always comes first. 

Look, I still have days when I hate how I look in photos and skip the ice cream even though I want it. Old habits don’t disappear overnight, but every summer I waste worrying about my body is a summer I’ll never get back. This season, it’s a countdown to the breath I get to take as I dive into the lake under a stretch of sunlight—no counting the calories of each lick of ice-cream, just the unspooling ribbon of days, each one basking with the only thing that mattered: being present in the moment.