How a wellness spa changed my relationship with my body 

“As I sank further into that hot, effervescent pool, I felt my anxiety unknotting and the panic subsiding.”

I’m lucky enough to have travelled quite a lot in my 22 years. I was also lucky enough to end up in a five-star wellness spa at the end of a recent trip to Italy. It’s hard to describe this place, but let me try for a moment. In Rome, out by the airport, lies a beautiful resort that’s full of baths, saunas and pools. The grounds are perfectly manicured and dotted with rustic fountains and bridges.

Winding paths lead you from one steaming outdoor pool to the next, looping past the aperitivo house and back around to the front of the hotel. The actual spas are underground and could be best described as ancient Roman baths existing in 21st-century-luxury. 

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Every time I’m there, I’m torn between taking a billion pictures of everything and shutting my phone off to truly enjoy the experience. However, despite the utter beauty and serenity you’d think this experience would provide, upon arrival, I was met with the routine terror that I always endure at the thought of being in bathers. 

I’ve suffered with this particular anguish since I was about 12 years old; feeling distressed at the thought of people seeing my exposed body, potentially analysing, and, to my horror, judging me. It was just my sister and I staying at the resort for two nights before flying back home, and we forgot to pack bathers. Because it was mid-winter, we’d failed to find anything that could possibly be perceived as acceptable swimming attire, despite our great efforts.

We resorted to using our black bras and undies, which felt very uncouth since we were staying at a five-star spa. My sister was eager to hit the pools and start relaxing, especially since it had been a rather arduous journey to the hotel and we were getting pretty sick of each other by that point. Her enthusiasm kicked me into gear, and I didn’t have time to think about how anxious I was at the thought of being judged in my makeshift bikini. Sarah hurried me along and we wound up underground in the baths. 

As soon as I sunk into the steaming, bubbling pool I felt at ease. The whole place was filled with couples enjoying an intimate moment at this exquisite resort, and I realised that most people were so absorbed in their significant other that no one even noticed me as I sat by myself reading. Not only that, but I had a deep realisation – no one in the entire spa cared what my body looked like except for me.

No one was analysing my appearance; I was the only person doing that. Sitting in my own pool of anxieties and self-criticism is what causes me to feel so distressed and insecure, rather than anything that anyone else says. 

This may sound kind of obvious to someone who hasn’t struggled with such deep insecurities, but to me, it was a revelation. Realising that nobody cared what I looked like was so liberating, and it was the first time that thought had ever occurred to me. 

I could see that everyone else was completely immersed in their own worlds, cuddling and kissing their partners, chatting in rapid Italian and revelling in how beautiful the surroundings were. Right then and there, I made a conscious decision: I wanted to shake off those negative thoughts, be present and allow myself to enjoy my time at the spa. 

I don’t know what changed in my brain that enabled me to let the distressing thoughts go, but I managed to have the most relaxing 48 hours of my life. As I sank further into that hot, effervescent pool, I felt my anxiety unknotting and the panic subsiding.  

I spent the weekend luxuriating and delighting in every bath, pool, steam room and daybed I could find. I indulged in the stunning buffet breakfasts and ‘wellness lunches’ that consisted of delicious Italian bread and baked goods, exquisite soups and pasta, heavenly salads and a mouthwatering array of cheeses and meat (in case you couldn’t tell by the way I’m raving, the food alone was a spiritual experience). 

My sister and I split up for most of the time, both deeply relishing our solitude. I spent hours soaking in the outdoor pools, steam rising around me in response to the cool winter air. I switched between reading a crappy-but-thrilling airport book and letting my thoughts run free. 

I must admit there were a few teary moments of utter pride, when I thought about how far I’d come on my journey of self-acceptance and love. I felt blessed to be in that moment, bathing in a pool in a resort in Italy, sitting in my underwear and not feeling ashamed and distressed. The trip ended on a high note with an indulgent meal of cacio e pepe (my all-time favourite) and a traditional Italian dessert buffet, which was a rather euphoric experience. 

The most euphoric part, however, was the realisation that I was bringing home with me; that the only person who cares what my body looks like is me. And I’m not going to care anymore. I took this attitude right off the plane, booked a trip to Sydney and bought a new – very slay – pair of bathers. The fruity Raq ones, to be exact. 

I spent a few lovely days in the February sun, walking around The Rocks in dad shorts and a bikini top with an iced latte and a big smile. I even managed to swim at the beach with minimal distress, trying all the while to remember how calm I felt at the spa.