How A 6-Year-Old Taught Me to Love My "Cottage Cheese Thighs"

I work as a gymnastics coach for children ages three to thirteen. I love my job for many reasons, but one of the most rewarding perks is the talks I get to have with my girls about body image. These girls come to class every day in leotards and surround themselves with other girls of all shapes and sizes, without diminishing their self-esteem. However, every now and then, an issue presents itself, and I get to have a come to Jesus talk with them.

Most recently, a 6-year-old was discussing buying her first bikini, when her older and larger classmate said she wanted one, too. The 6-year-old, with a catty raised eyebrow, retorted, “No, only skinny people can wear bikinis.” That didn’t go over so well with me. We halted all stretches as I explained to the girls that every body is a bikini body, and people of all shapes, sizes, ages, and even genders can wear bikinis if it makes them happy. I like to think I sparked at least a tiny bit of body confidence that day.

I have also dealt with girls who openly compare themselves to the others; girls who are older, taller, with bigger hips. These are the girls I identify with. I started gymnastics way too late in the game as a preteen. With no previous experience, I was a level one, learning how to do somersaults with a class of 5-year-olds. Being the biggest girl in the class is hard, especially when the instructor can flip everyone around except you.

Thankfully, having that background taught me how to relate to those girls in my class. I know what it’s like to be the biggest girl in the class. I know how it feels to look at all the girls in tiny leotards while I pull soffee shorts up over mine. Being able to wipe tears from their faces and hearing them laugh as I explain how goofy I must have looked compared to my classmates is one of the best parts of my job.

 As much as I see these girls tackle body confidence every day, I still struggle. I love my body, and I’m comfortable in my own skin, but there will always be parts of me that I wish I could change. And that’s fine! I was given a skinny body with a high metabolism and I took it for granted. I’ve always eaten whatever I wanted, and one day that metabolism caught up with me. I like being a little thicker than I used to be, as frustrating as swimsuit or jean shopping is.

But one part of me that I have never, ever been comfortable with is my thighs. As soon as I put on my first pair of shorts for the summer, I’m immediately ready for snow to start falling. I have cellulite, and it's probably one of the most embarrassing features to have in today’s society. Celebrities have their beach vacation pictures blown up to emphasize the dimples on their thighs. College girls rush to Target to buy skin-firming creams and cellulite-reducing scrubs. It’s a sickness.

To help fight this hatred of my legs, and to instill a new sense of confidence, I collaborated with a local photographer to do a lingerie photo-shoot. And while it was great, and did exactly what it was designed to do in terms of confidence, I can’t take nearly naked pictures every day, and after a while my self-love battery needs a recharge.

Because I’m a gymnastics instructor, I work in a large gym with an entire wall of mirrors, and I’m surrounded by other instructors my age. Our uniforms are simple, just a staff t-shirt and athletic bottoms. It gets hot, and the desire to wear shorts is constant, but when I’m surrounded by my athletic-trainer, dance-major, and level-7-gymnast peers in shorts, and their perfectly sculpted legs, I decide that leggings are my best option.

But then one day in class, I noticed something strange. As I helped one of my younger girls fold into a backbend, I notice her legs dimpled up. I looked over and saw another girl sitting criss-cross applesauce; her legs had cellulite too. It was on every girl. These were 6-year-olds who have been in gymnastics for years. They were athletic, skinny, and growing more muscles every day—and they had the same cellulite that I had been killing myself over.

That’s when I realized how stupid it is to be embarrassed by it. Cellulite is a natural thing. From that point on, I noticed that every single person around me had it. Girls sitting in class, other gymnastics instructors, the girl next to me at the barre in ballet. It was so freeing to no longer worry about how I sit, or what angle to stand at while talking to someone. We’ve realized that fat is beautiful, we understand that stretch marks are stripes to be earned—why are we still treating cellulite like a deformity?