shame shame shame

shame on me.  here i am working on a fundraiser for an eating disorders resource center, and I am weeping into my pillow at night because of my post-smoking weight gain.  there are some hard, ugly truths to be exposed here, so do not read on if you are looking for a post filled with the good and sparkly parts of me.  i've been in the cellar of my soul the past few weeks, and can tell you there is a lot of mildew.  and this is one of the stinky parts.

I have never not ever looked at someone and noticed anything but their heart - didn't make an impact if they were black, white, heavy, thin, etc... unless there was something completely outstanding about their physical features, I didn't pay much attention - sort of "duly noted" and move on.  except when i looked at myself.  i saw every zit and wrinkle and flaw...every bump of cellulite, every grey hair...every imperfection - real or perceived.  and yet, i never saw those same things in other people, which made it all the more lonely being the imperfect one.  strangely, though, my inner spirit ignored all this stupid chatter, and my HeartWork went on - just not focused toward my own physical being...i could read others and love others and show them how their bodies were absolutely perfect in whatever form they chose, but i struggled to accept my changing figure.  maybe it all came on too sudden?  maybe the timing was strangely in synch with dealing with some Bad Inner Child issues?  who could know?  i do know that right about the time i realized it was time to stop dressing like the progeny of Steven Tyler and Stevie Nicks, my ass and stomach exploded out two sizes in about 10 days.  it was like the Nutty Professor when the potion was wearing off, and Buddy Love was changing back into Professor Clump.   So here it is autumn.  my favorite time of year, and i pull out my sweaters and leggings to get ready for crispy evening weather.  and there is No Way any of my beloved sweaters will fit.  no possible way my corduroys and flannels will fit.  in fact, it looks like these are someone else's clothes.  and i stood naked in the mirror for the first time in a while and just looked.  and shame on me, i wept.  you should know that i was a figure skater til my late teens, and couldn't keep weight on.  i graduated high school at 89 pounds.  i stayed active and my weight stayed at 101 and below for most of my life.  i married my (current) husband when i was size 4.  that was 11 years ago.  that was before Lexapro and cooking for a family and all manner of stress and quitting smoking/gaining weight/starting smoking to lose weight/quitting smoking again and gaining on top of gaining.  so here i stand at size 14.  the person who had an internal motto that size does not matter.  and many of the people i know would laugh, saying they passed size 14 years ago.  and all i wanted was a pair of jeans that fit.  that fit like they should.  that didn't cut off my breath if i bent over.  that didn't pinch my girl parts till they were numb.  that weren't bagging in the butt in order to fit the waist.  and speaking of waist - jeans that were cut for a bigger girl and not just a larger size of skinny girl pants.  i do not need a waistband so low that i have to shave my bikini area in order to wear them.  i did that back in the late 60's, early 70's when the fashion came around the first time, and i could actually SEE my bikini area.  and i had a feeling that if i could find clothes that were cut for my body, and that were stylish (just say NO to stretch pants and poly), then i could get back to the business of not caring, because i would be COMFORTABLE.  so with grim determination, a chip on my shoulder, and 3 credit cards, i went to the Good Mall...Macy's, Saks, JCPenney.  had it all covered.  after 3 exhausting hours getting stuck in jeans and shirts and sweaters and not finding anything but shoes, i wandered up the mall, headed to Michael Kors.  on the way, a funny thing happened.  I walked into Lane Bryant.  the store that has been the epitome of unnaturally fibered stretch pants in lilac or white, with animal print stretchy shirts, banded at the bottom.  that was my vision anyway.  au contraire, mon frere.  it was like a treasure trove of clothes made For Me!  the sales people were My Size...the clothes were up-to-the-minute fashionable (well, a few not so muches, but mostly) and they were cut for big girls.  and they start at size 14 - a size that i realized i was just an hour before.  i had been a 12 a few days ago.  tomorrow, who knows?  but today?  i have jeans.  so they loaded up a dressing room for me, and i took a deep breath and went in.  it had not been the best of shopping days, and i couldn't face another disaster.  i tried on the tone-on-tone subtle denim leopard pants....(picture from Lane Bryant catalog online)...(just look at that Real Girl ASS!) (sorry)

they fit like they were made for me!!! this was remarkable.  yes, a part of me was sad that i was shopping in the heavy girl store, but the parts that weren't being squeezed were very happy.  the clerk asked how i was doing, and as i opened the door to show her, a big tear slid down my cheek. (now look, this has been a Really Bad week for me in other respects, and i am fragile & emotional on top of this shopping deal.  it's not like i think there are no worse things).  i squeaked out "they fit" and the clerk grabbed me and wedged me into the crevice of her bosom.  i was trapped in a strange woman's bosom.  but what the hell, you know?  sometimes it's okay.  better than okay.  it was a sister thing.  so a frenzy of clothing try-ons began.  did you know they even make their own underpants for big girls? and they fit way different.  and everything is much more expensive, but damn it - it FITS.  it FITS.  so today i went to the Lane Bryant website and God help me - they have heavy models.  and. they. are. beautiful.  beautiful.  and in that moment i knew, i just knew, that i will never not ever be a size 2 or 4 or any other single digit again.  and that it so didn't matter. that i could be beautiful and short and have a zit and bad hair and cellulite and all manner of not-so-perfect things AND be a size what-effing-ever.  and none of that would even matter, ever, to me again.  it was put to rest.  i could just let the light out again...air out the cellar and let the fresh air flow through again.  amazing what a good pair of jeans can do for a person.