When I was 13, going to public pools was painful. I loved the water, but I was convinced that dozens of judging eyes were on me every time I took my shirt off.
I wish I could say this was only a product of my adolescent imagination, but I knew it was not when a swimming instructor singled me out and asked me to wear a shirt during class.
Being the only one with a shirt on was more shameful than being bare-chested. But the instructor was trying to save me from embarrassment, like my parents and every other caring adult around me.