The jeans I own no longer fit. Yup. You heard me. Not the I-ate-a-little-too-much-this-weekend kind of snug. They simply don't fit. What the f**k? As my friend, Brooke, jokingly reminded me, I don't leave a great margin for error in how I wear them, and I won't deny that. But nevertheless, without workouts, I cannot get into any of the pairs in my closet. So I had a choice. I could will them to fit. Ha! I could keep trying them on and feeling badly about myself. I could buy baggy tops to disguise the reality of the moment. Or I could take a deep breath, acknowledge that it feels bad right now that I cannot maintain my figure as I would like until my health allows it, and buy something that fits and so I can feel good getting dressed to walk out into the world. So I had a bit of a whine and pulled the trigger.
Is there a bright side? Well, I didn't die. There is no scarlet A on my chest. I am no longer uncomfortable when I get dressed to go out. Nobody else in the world has any idea which jeans I am wearing anyway. And guess what? They don't care. I still get the same reception from my friends when I arrive at the restaurant. I am learning...slowly.