When I was younger, I thought I would have figured it all out by now. I thought my 30s would arrive with answers. Confidence. Certainty. The perfect career. The perfect relationship. The perfect body. Especially the body. For years, I treated my weight like a temporary situation. I wasn't fat—I was just fat for now. I assumed that by the time I reached my 30s, I would have become the version of myself I had spent so much time imagining. The thinner version. The after picture.

For years, I convinced myself there were swimsuits for people like me and swimsuits for everyone else. As a plus-size woman, I thought my only option was a one-piece with maximum coverage and minimum attention. Every summer, I searched for a swimsuit that would somehow make me look smaller, flatter, or more acceptable. I wasn't shopping for something I loved...I was shopping for something that hid me. The message was everywhere: cover your arms, hide your stomach, wear black,