Yesterday was my no-exercise day (I’ve been doing six days a week and it seems to be working fine), so I wanted to do something productive with the free time. There’s a room in our house that we use as the guest room, but mostly it’s what we refer to as my “Closet Room.” I know that sounds ridiculous; I’m not a celebrity clothes horse with a three-story closet with rotating shoe racks and a jacuzzi (though if I was, it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever, would it?). Not only are the rooms very small in our house, but so are the closets. I don’t know what it is about houses built before the 1980’s; did they not think women needed walk-ins back then? Either way, a few months ago my kind man built me what has become my favorite shelf in the whole wide world:
That thing holds an assload of clothes. But the sad thing? It’s still not enough. And there’s a terrible reason for this.
As I was going through organizing and weeding out the unfortunate pieces for the Goodwill pile, I discovered I have a rather WIDE range of sizes these days. And I couldn’t believe it when I started noticing how many 6’s (and 4’s! Oh dear God, there were 4’s!!) were there, things I hadn’t worn in a long, long time. Like two years or more. Because I’ve been much too busy wearing 8’s. And then 10’s. Now mostly 12’s. And all of a sudden I was pretty upset.
Granted, the weight crept on slowly and stealth-like. It didn’t all appear in one day (and what a bizarre day that would’ve been). But I was having a serious case of the sads, thinking about how I’ve let things go so far. Logically I know some of the reasons for it: life stresses, thyroid issues, medication, aging, etc. But all that stuff doesn’t really matter when you’re in the middle of a brutal self-flagellation session:
Wow, these 4’s are TINY – and you used to FIT INTO THEM!
Okay, but you also used to eat a lot of pills in place of food, too.
Yeah, so? Was that so bad?
Yes, asshole, it was.
Okay, fine. But wasn’t it fun being so skinny and eating whatever you wanted?
Yes. Yes it was.
I mean, seriously – did you think your metabolism was going to stay like that forever? You’re not thirty anymore!
Hey, do me a favor and eat a dick.
I would, but first you’ll have to tell me how many calories that would be – ha! HAHAHA!
And then Brian walked in. He started saying something about how much progress I was making (yes, I do allow the room to become pretty messy sometimes) but stopped in his tracks when he saw the look on my face, which can only be described as “Verge-of-tears Red.” He asked what was wrong and I told him the truth: I miss my old clothes. I’m ashamed of myself and embarrassed. Etc. And then he does what he always does when I’m having a meltdown – said nice stuff, made me laugh and brought me back from the ledge.
I know it’s going to take awhile to get to where I’m wearing those clothes again. I know it’s going to take a lot of work. But dammit, I’m going to be there again. And I’m not going to take it for granted next time.