A week or so ago, I was at the launch of the 50:50 Group, a voluntary organisation set up to work towards gender parity in Irish politics by the year 2020. There were a number of speakers drawn from various groups around the country which included Fiona Buckley, the co-founder of 50:50; Eilish Corcoran, The Womens Manifesto Project in Longford; Helen Rochford Brennan of the Western Development Commission, to name but a few – all drawn from different backgrounds and with different perspectives on the question of gender parity in Irish politics.
But this is not a blog about politics. The reason I mention it is because of something one of the speakers said, and which struck a chord among many of the audience, mostly female. The speaker commented that she was ‘looking at a group of brilliant women, any of whom could stand for election in this country’. A member of the audience responded that being referred to as ‘brilliant’ made her feel under pressure, and less likely to consider entering political life, for fear of not living up to expectation. There were murmurings of assent, and it was clear that nobody there was comfortable self-identifying as ‘brilliant’.
I thought about this afterwards. Very few people – male or female – self-identify as brilliant. Yet very often we will refer to others as brilliant, often for doing something that we are well capable of doing ourselves. Why? I know when I first started organising the Dip, the compliments and the plaudits made me uncomfortable. I would brush them aside with a comment that really, it wasn’t me who was brilliant/fabulous/marvellous, but rather the people doing the Dip. We know that Irish people are not the best at receiving compliments – we feel we’re asking for a belt around the back of the head if accept it as truth! But even to ourselves, we find it difficult to acknowledge when we do something well – we dismiss it with a wave of our hand and a brisk ‘it’s no big deal’.
So I started thinking about how we might start to acknowledge our own brilliance – what Marianne Williamson called our deepest fear. Could we make a start by thinking of ourselves as ordinary, but acknowledging that something we have done might be extraordinary? Because I certainly think that doing the Dip in the Nip is something extraordinary for most of the people who do it, and all for very different reasons. To get naked with a bunch of strangers, and run into the North Atlantic – in IRELAND! – is truly extraordinary. We are a nation consumed by body hang-ups. We harbour a belief that because we are not tanned and toned like our mediterranean cousins (who may be tanned, but trust me, they’re not always toned) our bodies could not possibly be beautiful and therefore should be kept under wraps except in the privacy of our bedrooms.
For virtually all of the Dippers, their first Dip was the first time that they had ever skinny dipped, even alone. And many of them, unless they are doing another Dip, may never skinny dip with others again. And it doesn’t matter if they have the perfect body or if they bear the scars of cancer or any other disease. Divesting themselves of all clothing and running screaming and laughing into the sea with other imperfect bodies is to stretch comfort boundaries probably beyond anything any of them thought themselves capable of, and that takes real courage.
So, Dippers: if you cannot see your own extraordinariness, then at least take a bow for taking your courage in both hands and doing something extraordinary.



