I came home from work the other evening, went to change into something a little more comfortable, and found that I needed to do laundry. I had no clean workout pants or pyjama pants, and my jeans were at the bottom of the laundry hamper, where I don’t care to forage.
After I loaded the washer, I decided to go hunting for my winter clothing stash—I was pretty sure I had a pair of sweats stored away. I didn’t find the sweats—didn’t actually find the winterstash, though I’m sure I had one—but I did find a pair of jeans. Actually, I found The Jeans.
The Jeans are the ones I bought back when I hated myself for being so fat. They are the ones I tried on every week as a measure during the two major diets I tried between their purchase and now. And they’re the ones I kept so that I would have a reminder to never get that fat again.
I looked at them, shrugged, and tried them on.
They fit. Not loosely.
I’m back where I started, size-wise. Nine years, and nothing to show for it—except that’s not exactly true, is it?
I have two kids now. New friends and neighbors. A much healthier endochrine system. A better haircut. A fun exercise routine. A couple of manuscripts that may not be complete dreck.
And a completely different attitude toward fitting into an old pair of jeans.
I won’t say it wasn’t a bit of a shock—that I didn’t think, “Holy crap!” when the waistband fit clean-jean snugly. That it didn’t occur to me that I must be about the same size I’d been when I was so ugly and uncomfortable and ashamed.
But the part of me that immediately sunk into what the hell did you do to yourself was dismissed by the part of me that said, “Interesting–I’m not ugly or uncomfortable now. I sure wasted a lot of time hating myself.”
And I went to help Baby set the table, because not all of us like to eat with plastic infant spoons and forks, however colorful, and to mention to Older Daughter, who was practicing her piano, that tempo isn’t a measure-by-measure decision.
But I think I will be getting rid of The Jeans. Not because they hold dubious associations, or because I’m embarrassed about how I used to proudly hold out the waistband like in those irritating commercials.
It’s because their fashion moment has passed. Pale, faded blue? So nine years ago . . .
. . .kind of like my self-loathing.
Tags: clothing, fat acceptance, self-esteem
November 13, 2009 at 9:33 am |
I had a pair of those, that during my worst WLD evangelism, I had hanging on my bedroom wall. So I could say NEVER AGAIN and feel all smug and superior. When I got fat enough that even those jeans didn’t fit me any more, it was one of my lowest points. Now I just keep clothes that fit. Much easier, much healthier, much less crazy-making.
Good for you on losing the heaviest thing: self-hatred!
November 13, 2009 at 10:31 am |
Here’s what I’ve been trying to say to myself about weight shifts, whichever direction:
“Isn’t it amazing what our bodies can do? The can expand and contract, store and release, provide, maintain, support, grow. Some things can be repaired, some can’t, some things don’t ever go back to the way they were (most things don’t) but that’s okay. I’m not a rubber band, I’m a complex organism, and I like it that way!”
I also tend to think about trees when I think about my body, for some reason. Some trees may have years where they produce more leaves or bear more fruit, grow more branches. Those years, is the tree “being bad?” Taking up more than it’s share of sun, water, and soil?
Oh, and I love your writing. I use so many words, and you use just the right amount of words.
Also, I’ve been going to the library more. I think it’s your influence on me. My library system just this year started imposing late fines (! — just this year–!) and I keep trying to tell myself that if I do have late books, it’s just a little donation to the library, but so far, I haven’t had anything overdue. Maybe there’s a fund I can donate to for people who can’t afford to pay their fines so they can have library amnesty… I’ll need to look into that.
November 13, 2009 at 6:39 pm |
November 13, 2009 at 10:34 am |
That was beautiful.
As a woman who is both plus sized and tall, I would never in a million years throw away something as precious as a pair of pants that fit. Of course, I think I’m pretty damned fancy if I remember to brush my hair before going to work. It’s not clear whether my indifference to fashion is related to trouble finding nice clothes or just a lucky coincidence, but it’s probably better not to analyze it too deeply. I just declare my dowdiness to be a sign of a brain too caught up in deep, academic thought to worry about such things. Then I shut my mouf so no one catches on!
November 13, 2009 at 12:36 pm |
I shop at the local Salvation Army, which is large and has a pretty significant number of Ashley Stewart and Lane Bryant castoffs (not to mention the occasional odd number that actually fits my size 18-22 frame.
I’ve totally started just giving away anything that doesn’t fit or I don’t love, on the grounds that there’s some other fat woman out there who’s going to see my old stuff at the Salvation Army and be thrilled to have found something with life in it.
It’s sort of a follow-up on wellroundedtype’s eco-fat mantra (which, btw, I love).
My version is:
Reduce Self-Hate.
Reuse Good Memories and Good Thoughts.
Recycle Anything That Doesn’t Fit The Life I Live Right Now.
November 13, 2009 at 6:48 pm |
November 13, 2009 at 1:35 pm |
“…and to mention to Older Daughter, who was practicing her piano, that tempo isn’t a measure-by-measure decision.”
Awww. No rubato? You are no fun.
I have four sizes in my closet, so I have something to wear when I randomly expand and shrink, over which I seem to have no control.
““Interesting–I’m not ugly or uncomfortable now. I sure wasted a lot of time hating myself.” “
This. This is good.
(Also, you may want to check your email if you haven’t.)
November 13, 2009 at 6:47 pm |