Deciding Who Gets to See You Naked

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One night a week, I stay over at my ex’s apartment.  Eira goes out for the evening, and because I usually work at 6AM the next morning, it’s easier for me to sleep on the couch and leave early.

Tuesday night, I changed in the living room, chatting to my son as he read on the couch before bed.  Eira suddenly emerged from her bedroom, headed for the door, and almost caught me stark naked.  David intervened in the nick of time, leaping in front of his mother.  “Daddy’s changing!  You have to wait.”

Eira turned her back while I hastily pulled on my sleeping boxers and t-shirt.  David assessed my modesty carefully before allowing his mother to pass.

“Sorry,” I said to the mother of my children.

“It’s totally okay;” she replied; “Your son has your back – and the rest of you.”

In our family, one of the first assertions of autonomy that a child has is the right to decide who sees them undressed.  For years, I gave Heloise her bath – and starting when she was four, I started gently letting her know that once she was capable of safely bathing herself, she was free to ask me to wait outside.  At age six, she announced that she did not wish me to see her naked any more, and we changed up our routine.

Small children often declare “I can do it myself” well before that claim is true.  Nonetheless, it’s vital that kids be given the earliest possible chance to do things for themselves without assistance.  Nothing boosts self-esteem like self-control. Nothing marks the transition from small child to competent pre-teen than the decision to shut a door while changing or bathing, safe in the knowledge that that barrier will be respected.

A different ex of mine told me she’d been deeply traumatized by her family’s insistence on nudity.  It wasn’t just that they considered nakedness to be natural, they actively prohibited shut doors, even while one was sitting on the toilet.  As she went into puberty, she was mocked if she wanted to cover up around her father and brother. (Her brother also wanted to be modest, and got the same pushback.)  There was no open sexual abuse of any kind – just an insistence on radical physical transparency.  My friend’s longing to set a boundary was declared to be evidence of shame, and shame had to be uprooted at the source.  As you might guess, her progressive parents hoped to make their children comfortable in their bodies – and their refusal to allow for privacy and autonomy had the exact opposite of the intended effect.

In our family, we don’t think there’s anything shameful about bodies.  Nothing is dirty or disgusting – but some things are private. The wonderful thing about privacy is that as we go through our lives, we get to adjust the settings on whom we allow into our private spaces. David and Heloise know there was a time when their mother and I did see each other naked, but they also know that time has passed.  They know that no one ever gets to overcome another’s boundaries by saying “Relax, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before” or “I used to change your diapers, little miss, so open this door!”

A shared past conveys exactly no rights.

Eira and I were a couple for 11 years.   We saw all of each other in sickness and health, in passion and in pain.  We are still dear friends, allies and partners in a sacred business – but there’s an equally sacred boundary between us now.  It’s a good lesson for the children.

A related story:

I am maybe 14, it is maybe the summer of 1981, and puberty and libido are on pimply, virginal me like a bewildering, relentless fever.

We are at the ranch, and some teen friend of a relative is practicing dives into the pool in her bikini. My cousin Wolfgang and I are sitting in the shade; I’m having a Tab, probably, and he (in his debonair late fifties) is having something elegant and cool for the afternoon.

I keep one eye on the beautiful girl, one on Wolf.

The girl keeps diving in that tiny bikini, and so, eventually, the inevitable happens. I lean forward as I see it, my cousin’s friend fumbling for her top on the surface of the water.

“Hugo,” Wolfgang calls my name urgently in his German accent. I look at him, embarrassed, knowing I was caught gaping.

“A gentleman always looks away when a young lady is caught out,” he says, quite firmly. I nod, my face hot.

Wolf’s voice softens.

“And a gentleman knows that nothing is better than seeing things a lady is eager to show him.”

I look down. Wolf reads my mind.  What girl will ever want clumsy, nerdy me to see her naked as much as I want to see her?

“It will happen, sooner than you think. Remember, never try to see what isn’t yours to see - and you’ll end up being invited to see everything.”

Those weren’t his exact words, but it was the meaning I took. I certainly didn’t believe it – yet it turned out to be true.

In our culture, we don’t shame teens for wanting sex, and we don’t shame nudity. We gently remind them of the centrality of consent, though we never used that word in my childhood. For Wolfgang - and my mother and aunt and grandmother - anything was permitted as long as it didn’t make the person you were doing it with embarrassed or uncomfortable.  If by some miracle this girl had wished to dive naked and be gazed at by all, there would have been no problem in doing so – but if she suffered a wardrobe malfunction, looking away instantly was the only proper course of action. Nakedness is only licit if the naked person wishes to be seen.

Was this a progressive morality? No, but it was rooted in kindness, and a sense that to make another person blush in shame was something a gentleman avoided at any cost.

There is nothing shameful about the human body.  An interest in privacy and modesty, however, is not evidence of shame.  The greatest gift we have as humans is our capacity to love – and perhaps our second greatest gift is our sovereignty over our own flesh. (Pace, my Catholic friends who want to wax on and on about the Theology of the Body.)

We come into this world naked and helpless, and we may leave it in much the same way, but in what we hope will be a Long and Happy In-Between, we deserve as much autonomy over our bodies as human frailty will permit.  My children are equipped to set their own boundaries, in the certainty that will be respected - and as my son demonstrated so forcefully the other night, they are quick to protect the boundaries of others.

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Flatland Cavalry are a terrific outfit from Lubbock, and they released their newest record a few weeks back. Hailey Whitters joins them on this track, and it’s been on repeat all day.