I Take My Young Daughters To A Clothing-Optional Hot Spring Every Year. Here's Why.
The first time I took my daughters to a clothing-optional hot spring, my youngest, who was 6, opted to wear her swimsuit — for about 10 minutes. Once she jumped into the sparkling blue pool surrounded by other naked people of all ages and shapes, she whipped her suit off, tossed it onto the deck, and exclaimed, “I’m naked!”
Several gleeful echos floated across the water: “Me too!”
The pure freedom and elation she felt while skinny-dipping for the first time is part of the reason I keep bringing my two daughters, who are now 12 and 8, on this annual retreat to Harbin Hot Springs in Lake County, California. We always go with dear friends, another mom and her two daughters, similarly aged. Given that it’s only an hour from where I live, I’ve been visiting this place for two decades.
My daughters get comfortable with the nakedness right away, perhaps because there are so many kinds of naked people: young kids like them, trans people, middle-aged folks like me, gay couples and plenty of older folks, some of whom have been making the pilgrimage since they were young. Seeing so many kinds of normal naked bodies reminds me of how brilliant writer and activist Lindy West’s quest for body acceptance involved looking at pictures of other fat women on the internet until they ceased to make her uncomfortable.
An oasis nestled on a hill with wide decks overlooking rolling treetops, Harbin Hot Springs has been a spiritual retreat center since the ’70s; the vibe is peaceful and buoyant. Stripped also of technology (no cell phones allowed), people mill about on towels and benches, snacking, doing yoga, chatting softly, reading books and slipping in and out of the warm mineral water of the heart-shaped pool, one of two pools where children are allowed. There’s an air of presence and reverence that the kids eventually sink into.
The experience is all about pleasure, and I want my daughters to know that all bodies, regardless of size, age, gender, skin tone, disabling conditions or prevalence of cellulite, are deserving of pleasure and capable of experiencing pleasure. Youth and beauty do not have a monopoly on enjoying hot soaks and cold plunges, on doing rhythmic laps or floating peacefully, on drying off naked in warm sunshine.
It’s also a great opportunity for my daughters to feel an embodied sense of what grownups mean when they talk about “safe spaces.” I appreciate that Harbin’s policy is that parents must remain with their children at all times, in and out of the pools. Thus far, we have not encountered anything threatening or inappropriate, but still, I am hyper-attuned to the people around us, knowing that predators can be found anywhere (even in the most sacred spaces, as the Catholic Church has made horrifyingly clear).
Kids are only allowed in two out of the seven total pools, which creates a welcome separateness for those adults who’d rather not be exposed to the occasional rowdiness of children.
My kids and their friends swiftly forget their own nakedness and are remarkably unselfconscious in this space — the opposite of how I felt as a kid, when certain adults in my life thought that scrutinizing my body was their right. Pinching my stomach, my dad would remark, “That’s where the brownies go.”
When I discovered Harbin in my 20s, I was emerging from the normalized fat-shaming of my ’80s childhood, having overcorrected (as so many do) by forcing my body to become leaner than was sustainable. I reflexively compared myself to every female I saw: thinner, fatter, more toned, saggier, on and on. Like so many women, I’d been taught to turn the scrutiny I’d received onto others, with the harshest criticism always reserved for myself.
Now that I’m in my 40s, the pressure on women has expanded to include relentless optimization. I appreciate that strong is the new skinny, and yet I also find myself alternately elated and exhausted by the constant chatter about weight training, protein, creatine and perimenopause. Lately, I feel drawn to body neutrality — what if a body is just a body, a vessel for experiencing the world, not to be necessarily loved or hated?
As part of my own body acceptance journey, I decided when I became a parent that I wouldn’t make disparaging comments about my body in front of my daughters — not whine about feeling fat after too much dessert, not frown at how I look when a pair of jeans fits too snug. The unconscious criticism stops here, I vowed. When I’m exercising in the living room and my youngest remarks that my butt looks jiggly, I neutrally confirm her observation and go about my burpees. Jiggly? Sure. Strong? Definitely.
Another payoff of our Harbin trips is how the experience follows us back home, inviting discussions of all sorts of body-related stuff: pubic hair, cellulite, age spots, acne, nipples, menstruation, body autonomy and consent, the list goes on.
“Mom, there are women with boobs so much bigger than yours!” they exclaim, and then we’re talking about what breast-feeding can do to breasts, why I sometimes wear bras with some padding but never with underwire anymore, how some women choose to augment their breast size with implants or reductions. They bring up facets of their own bodies that we can talk about without judgment or pathology, like the fact that my 12-year-old is now taller than me and can fit into some of my clothing.
My favorite place at Harbin is the altar next to the cold plunge, where people leave tokens and treasures, flower petals and seashells, next to a statue of Quan Yin, a Chinese goddess associated with compassion. The only sounds that can be heard are the gurgling of spring-cold waters flowing into the tub and the deep sighs of people emerging from the frigid water. Some people avert their eyes, others offer warm smiles.
My daughters look forward to the day they are allowed into that sacred adult-only space, though for now, they are just happy to experience the soothing warm and cool pools — and the skinny-dipping.
As my older daughter points out, it’s the only place where they’ve ever been allowed to be naked in public. “And it’s nice to be around other naked people who aren’t judging anyone,” she said.This article originally appeared on HuffPost.
