Yesterday marked a pretty big day for me. Yesterday, I bought not just one but TWO pairs of jeans.
That may not sound like a big deal for you, but to me it was HUGE. HUGE. Bigger than huge.
You see, I haven’t gone jean shopping since 2009 when I first started on this weight gain trend. I’ve been wearing my mom’s hand me downs because I refused to buy pants that weren’t a size four or six. That was MY size. And I was not going to buy pants that was a size bigger because I was going to lose this weight. My binge eating disorder was going to disappear. My life would go back to the neat little box I had planned for myself.
Well clearly that didn’t happen. Over two years later here I am, 20 pounds heavier than I ever thought I was going to be, only 4 pair of pants to my name, and although I am physically stronger than I’ve ever been in my entire life, I am not anywhere close to the size I used to be.
It’s tough. It’s very very tough to go shopping for clothes when you’re in denial. When you think that this problem that you’ve been living with for almost five years is going to melt away and take the pounds with it.
Not only has my body image and disordered eating problems NOT disappeared, but it’s very much a part of my daily struggle. Every time I eat, every time I move my body and feel it’s heaviness, every time I put on clothes that used to fit me differently, every time I look in the mirror, I am reminded that I am in still attached to this idea of what my body should be rather than face the truth.
And what’s the truth you may ask?
The truth is, I am beautiful. I am perfect. I am exactly where I am supposed to be.
Fashion does not define me. More importantly, a number on a pair of pants NOR a number on scale define me.
My weight is not all of who I am.
I am SO much more.
So I decided it’s about time I accepted where I am in my life and that at least for now I am not going to be losing these 20 pounds anytime soon.
So I went to Express. I walked up to these cute pair of jeans, chose a few sizes and went to the dressing room. Size four, doesn’t even go up my calf. Size six, doesn’t go past my knees. Size eight, doesn’t go past my thighs. Size ten, ok. Size twelve, perfect.
Tears came to my eyes as I stared in the mirror, torn between the twelves and the tens. I gave myself some time to pout. Then the song Domino played through my head and I stared into my eyes in the mirror and sang
“I’m feeling sexy and FREEEE”
My body is awesome thank you very much. Nothing, including my own mind, will get in the way of my heart tenderly starting to fall in love with it’s home.
I decided to grab the size tens. Maybe I’m not fully ready to be out of denial. I’ll get there.