Hairs and feminism

One of the things Budapest is famous for is the bath houses that can be found anywhere in the city.
My best friend, who is travelling with us, is staying at a five-stars hotel that has its own spa, and we decided yesterday to go and relax there.

For someone who's been doing modeling, I am quite prude. I both want to been seen and notice, while being terribly self-conscious.
I am tall but I feel small. I feel too thin and too fat at the same time, never fit enough. My ribs are showing and I am flat chested.
I've always had trouble seeing this body as mine, if that makes any sense. I sometimes look at my feet and wonder when they got so far away. I've tried drawing myself once, and realised that even with a selfie, I don't know what I look like. I look at the picture but it doesn't ring true.
Domesticating my body has been an on going battle for as long as I can remember.
Not that I feel my body hideous. No, no. It's a nice bag of meat. It's just that... It doesn't really feel like it's mine. More like I am getting away with something.
I am both that cute girl in a pretty skirt and that boy in the leather jacket.

That means that I don't pay much attention to my body. I wear make up only when I feel like it.
And I shave on a very irregular basis. Which means that when we arrived at the spa, I realized that I was to walk around in a bathing suit (and not the one I like and chose and feel okay in) and that I was very definitely hairy.
My legs, my armpits, my bikini-line were not the way it is expected for women to be.
And despite all my education about feminism and all the things I know about how hairs are okay and normal and that I wasn't doing anything wrong my not shaving more regularly, I must admit, I felt ashamed. I wanted to recoil in the small cabin and wished the bathrobe would be longer.
I felt... dirty?
But My best friend had invited us here and there was no way I could not go, so I walked on. I kept my bath robe until the last possible moment and I just ran away with it.

I am a feminist and I don't care if a girl is hairy or not, though I confess I made fun of men who were really hairy. And I know I shouldn't feel bad and I should be proud of my body, no matter the way it is. But... I wasn't.
My point here is that... maybe it was okay.
It doesn't make me any less of a feminist to feel uneasy. I guess.