I had a dressing room meltdown last week. My starfish Erin was there to witness it and Dan caught the aftermath that evening when I cried about how stressful the event had been.
I’m in a wedding in May. The bridesmaids are young. Way younger than me. I’ve got nearly a decade on them. And probably 100 pounds.
Trying on dresses on Wednesday last week was stressful. I kept whining to Erin that this was ridiculous and how could I be expected to feel comfortable when these dresses were obviously designed with someone NOT ME in mind.
Dresses pinched and pulled and tugged and gaped in weird places. They were too short and showed off my fat knees. There was armpit fat hanging over the top of the strapless dresses. And, thanks to the wonderful c-section that has caused me so much grief in other areas of my life, I also have a weird mom-pouch that prevents me from wearing a pencil skirt or sheath dress. Even with Spanx.
(If any companies out there think they have a product that would make me NOT hate the way I look in a sheath dress, I will happily try it. Because I love sheath dresses. And if I like it, I will become your
slave loyal follower. For life.)
Did I mention the dresses are red? And
Satan satin? Which will make me stick out instead of blend in and people will be all “Oooh, shiny, pretty! Wait…who’s the fatty up there? And is she wearing a fanny pack under that dress?”
I came home and got so involved in my search for the perfect dress (out of the 6 I have to choose from) that I literally cried when Dan told me that I’d spent enough time that evening searching for a dress and I needed to snap out of it.
Because I DID need to snap out of it. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t manage to shake the feeling that I was not meant to wear ANY of those dresses or ANY pretty dress ever again.I sobbed to him in the kitchen that I was sorry and that putting on all of those dresses earlier that day had pretty much laid bare my soul under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lighting.
Those dresses had thrown into stark realization all the parts of myself that I do not like and cannot seem to change.
Then Katie wrote this theory. This theory is a good one and you should go read it.
Kate said “I need to refocus my guilt and self-hate into a yearning to be healthy for my family.” And I clapped and jumped up and down (on the inside) and said “YES! ME TOO!”
Talking about this, thinking about this in these terms, being REAL about this, has been kind of liberating for me. I spent the rest of the week watching what I ate but not obsessing over what I ate. I controlled my portions and felt GOOD.
I stepped on the scale on Friday (or Saturday) and the thing read 194! WOOT!
Then the lovely Lady Times surprised me, thus the 197 this morning. Not woot.
I have a fresh perspective on this whole adventure after last week.
I have beaten worse things in my life. I can totally beat 30 pounds.