By: Harmony
My son learned how to hop by watching me try to squeeze into a pair of jeans that no longer fit. You know the drill. I call it the hop-and-pull, first cousin to the lay-down-and-zip. I ripped my jeans that day, and had no choice but to accept defeat. They are now stored in the back of my closet waiting for a smaller, future me.
I know you all have that section in your closet where the small clothes go. Mine is a sad little corner full of wispy “going-out” shirts, strapless tops, and jeans in single-digit sizes made of stretchy denim. I have the wardrobe of three different women — skinny me, normal me, and fat me. My underwear drawer holds both big granny bras and teeny tiny bras that I’m sure these boobs will never fit into again. I just can’t bear to let them go because they looked so cute … once upon a time. Breaking up is hard to do.
I also can’t get rid of this stuff because I use these garments as a foolproof way of tracking my size. I’ve long since boycotted the scale … it becomes too easy to obsess over every little pound. Now I judge my weight by looking at myself to see if I have muffintops billowing up over my waist band or not. Lately, the answer has been yes.
We all have parts that we wish would shrink or go away altogether. I spent a lot of years battling my shape. I’m a white girl with a freakishly large behind. I grew up with a lot of other white girls who had little to no behind, and I felt like a total misfit. I finally started to accept myself in my mid-twenties after I met my husband. It took over a year for me to finally believe him when he told me that I was beautiful. I mean, to REALLY believe that he thought it, and wasn’t just saying it because he wanted to get in my pants. Since we met, that man has seen me looking my absolute WORST (in active labor, hung over, etc.) and my absolute BEST, and he loves me anyway.
There is something liberating about being able to truly accept yourself. He taught me how to do that. Men simply do not care about their appearance the way that women do. I’ve observed him look at his belly in the mirror, rub it like a magic lamp, slap it with gusto, and tell me I am a lucky woman. If his pants were too tight, he’d just pull out a bigger pair; he didn’t get all cranky about it. He ate when he was hungry and ate what he felt like eating. Amazing.
When I turned 30, I made up my mind that I am going to start living with more gusto. I was going to be more like … a man. I decided to stop worrying so much about my appearance and being so unhappy with myself all of the time. I decided to stop comparing myself so much to other women. And you know, I’ve packed on 15 pounds since I made this decision and despite that, I’m quite happy with myself. This year, I karaoked for the first time, started dancing in public, ran a 5k, and took more risks. I started speaking my mind more.
I still wish I could fit into my skinny jeans, but I’m not going to let it ruin my day anymore. My son thinks I’m the most beautiful woman in the world, and that is the greatest compliment I could ever hope to receive.
Harmony blew into Birmingham after Hurricane Katrina and is a self-proclaimed “never home maker” striving for a balance between her career and family life. Visit her blog at www.workingmommymadness.com.
Maybe your best post yet. I am so proud, and so inspired!