Here, five Femail writers reveal whether they’re prepared to bare all in front of their children.
Lauren Libbert, 47, lives in North-West London with her two sons, aged ten and 11, and says:
My boys are used to seeing me naked. We have a bath together at least once a week and I often walk across the landing from my bedroom to theirs without a stitch on.
They’ve definitely become more intrigued with my body as they’ve grown older; there’s more pointing and sniggering and they ask lots more questions. Is that where I fed as a baby? What are those bumps? Why does the hair stop there?
I answer matter-of-factly, without embarrassment. But there are rules. No poking or prodding; our bodies are not shameful, but they are ours and should be treated with respect.
I always chatted to my mum when she was in the bath. As the youngest of five children, it was the one place I could catch her sitting still and I’d pop my feet into the water at the end and we’d sit and chat. I don’t think I even noticed she was naked.
I’ve always been very comfortable with my body and I’m convinced this openness in childhood is the reason. I want the same for my sons. To be comfortable in your skin is a gift.
Kathryn Knight, 46 lives in South-West London with husband Duncan, 36, and their four-year-old daughter Connie. Kathryn says:
I've always been a let-it-all-hang-out kind of gal. Over the years my friends have got used to me padding round in the buff on holidays. (‘For goodness sake put it away’ is a common lament.)
It’s a theme that continues at home, where unless it’s sub-zero, I sleep in the nude and happily lounge around post-shower with nothing on. I saw no reason to change that when Connie came along and, as a result, she’s entirely accustomed to my naked form, especially as she comes into bed every morning for a cuddle.
As far as I’m concerned, it’s gloriously healthy: my body has already proved a useful starting point for discussions about the difference in my shape and hers and how our bodies work.
Tessa Cunningham, 59, has two daughters, aged 25 and 26, and lives with her partner, Richard, 59, in Winchester. She says:
I take my hat off to Victoria Derbyshire for walking around naked in front of her boys after having had a mastectomy. My daughters are now 25 and 26, but it’s something I have never been able to do.
When I had a mastectomy — losing my right breast at 48, just like her — my daughters were 14 and 15. Victoria’s sons are 11 and 13.
I told myself I was protecting them. The truth is I was protecting myself. I felt so horribly maimed, I was convinced anyone who looked at me would be revolted. Seeing fear or disgust in my daughters’ eyes would have pole-axed me.
Unlike Victoria, I chose not to have a reconstruction — I could not face more surgery. So, where once there was a breast, now there was just an ugly red scar. I felt I’d been butchered.
Given how unhappy I was, I think I was probably right to shield my daughters. To them, of course, I pretended I was perfectly fine with losing a breast. Only on occasions such as shopping for bras with them did my bravado fade a little. Lingerie stores — once lovely places to linger — became graphic reminders of all I had lost.