How I Finally Got Over My Fear of Being Naked It took an event that trumped all my insecurities.

"Can you hand me that robe?" I asked him in the dark.

"We've just done the most intimate thing two people can do," my college boyfriend began, "and now you want to wear my robe?"

"Yes."

"I have seen you naked," he added with a smirk.

"Yes," I paused, "but you haven't seen me naked standing up." And with that he handed me his robe.

Much to all my previous boyfriends' chagrin, being naked was never my thing. I've heard the tales about women who have no problem flaunting their goods in front of their boyfriends, but this was never me. In my college years, I would wear long underwear in the dead of summer, with boxers over that, and a long T-shirt to bed. So, learning to be comfortable naked was quite the leap for this fully clothed lady.

I'm not entirely sure when I became so shy about being nude, because it certainly wasn't when I was a little kid. My parents still have lovely pictures of me naked in the bathtub as a toddler having a blast playing with the water, completely unaware of being totally unclothed. (Luckily, I was able to hide those photos before they ended up in the rehearsal dinner slideshow.) As a kid, it was no big thing. I didn't care at all. It was only in junior high that I remember becoming self-conscious about my body.

All the girls in my class starting looking more like "ladies" with their adult-size brassieres, while I could have substituted two Band-Aids for my bra and still had it all covered. Then to make me feel even worse, all the girls had to change for gym class in front of one another. I remember pretending to need the bathroom stall, and then while in there, I would just happen to conveniently change out of my clothes. That way, I wouldn't have to show my lack all around the room. I wanted to look like a hot girl in a John Hughes movie. Instead, I looked like Anthony Michael Hall in a John Hughes movie.

Even after I had "blossomed" (as my mother assured me I would), the fear of anyone else seeing me naked just kind of stuck. I did grow slightly more comfortable in front of the man I married. Still, I was never one to walk around naked — with or without my husband in the house.

And then, everything changed. In a way, it was like deciding to sky-dive in order to overcome a fear of heights — I had a baby.

My mom's friends said it would happen, that once I was in labor, I wouldn't care who saw my breasts or any other part of me. I didn't believe them. I bemoaned the fact that I would have to be naked in order to give birth, and that there was no way I could get over that insecurity. What if I wore a really cute outfit? Surely, the doctors and nurses would appreciate the novelty! No? (No.) But that day in the delivery room, there could have been a camera crew televising all over the world from my hospital bed, and I would not have cared in the least.