How have I become so ashamed of my body?

I can’t recall ever being explicitly told that my body (or anyone’s) was revolting, or even that I should never be seen without clothing. Early in my childhood, I remember my father explaining that, when in a public men's change room for instance, it was perfectly acceptable to shower naked and change clothes in view of other people. Yet I preferred to shower in my bathing suit, and change in a bathroom stall.

I do remember my father explaining to me—likely when I was around eight or nine years of age—that I was no longer to see my mother in the nude. He didn’t say this was because I was no longer to see nude women; he explained that it was because my mother is a modest woman. Up until that point, I wouldn’t have had any major qualms about walking into the bathroom to ask Mom a question while she was in the bath. Yet after those instructions, I remember reacting with alarm and embarrassment if I happened to stumble upon my mother as she was dressing: not because I felt any repulsion, but because I had been told it was something I shouldn’t do.

A few years ago I was caught walking out of the bathroom after a shower, sans clothing, by my dad (my room was right next to the bathroom). Immediately, like a reflex, my hands dashed to cover the “worst” of the nakedness, and I stepped behind a piece of furniture. And then I burst into laughter. My reaction didn’t make any sense. My dad had seen me naked plenty of times before (when I was younger, granted). I have the same parts as him, anyway. And when had I learned to cover myself like that? Was it from Saturday morning cartoons? How had I developed this deep-seated shame of my body?

I have a younger sister and brother. No one in our family has appeared unclothed around the house since we were quite young. At this stage, I feel like it would be quite shocking for any of us to decide to walk across the house without clothes or a towel. And because I think that, I don’t dare to do it.

I’m not a psychologist, but as I think about my behaviour as well as the attitudes of some of my family members, I can’t help but suspect that I am heavily influenced by totally implicit cues from the people around me, perhaps because of my brain’s proficiency at association and reasoning. I don’t dare to be naked in front of my family because that just never happens, so it would be shocking if I did it. My naked body is shocking to my family because... well... because there must be something disgusting about my body.

I think sometime in my mid teens I discovered DOMAI: a Web site that showcases simple nude photos of women in natural settings. I struggled with these at first because I hold Christian beliefs, and lust is something that God condemns. But the more I thought and prayed about it and searched the Bible, the more I felt that the human body is good and beautiful, and appreciating the beauty of a person and his or her body can be separate from lust and sexual motives. So rather than being an addictive, pornographic experience, nude art has helped me to appreciate the unique beauty of each person's body—even my own.

I'm at the stage now where I don't want to be ashamed of my body. I want to love it, even if it has more acne and smaller muscles than I might like. But I find it difficult to love my body when my impression is that others—even my family—would much rather I keep it under wraps. How can I love my body when I feel like others are revolted by it? Can I truly adore this amazing apparatus alone, behind a carefully locked door: the only place where I would dare reveal it?

I took a step this summer toward overcoming the shame I have of my body. I went down to the river with my brother and hopped in, au naturel. I didn't know from the beginning if I would actually muster the courage to do it, so my brother was likely caught off guard, and he didn't join me. However, he told me later that he thinks it's good that I'm “so comfortable.” I told him, “You know, I'm not really that comfortable... but I'm working on it.”