I was at the heaviest weight of my life. I wasn’t the unhealthiest I had ever been, just the heaviest.
I had spent that year taking better care of myself. I quit smoking and I decided that I would no longer be a slave to my eating disorder that had plagued me for several years. When you make those kind of decisions, there are consequences. My hardest consequence was weight gain. I was 200 pounds.
Oh, but I was happy. I had someone who loved me for who I was. Someone who saw the ugliest parts of me and still fell in love. I married someone who I knew wasn’t going to leave if I gained weight. I knew that if this man saw me exactly as I was and continued to pursue me like crazy, he was a keeper.
But I hated being overweight. It was nothing new, I’ve battled those extra pounds my entire life. I had been on the roller coaster way too long. But now I was in a better place. And I knew it was time to shed that part of me that was clinging from my past.
We were living in PA and attending a church that had a weight loss support group. I had the time and I had the energy, so I was fully ready to do this.
It was simply based on moderation. That was the secret. Eat less, move more. And it worked. 60 pounds lost and I felt amazing. Life was good.
On a trip to Seattle I tried on a pair of jeans that were the smallest size I had ever worn. They didn’t just fit, they were loose. I bought those pants with pride.
Soon after, I was thrilled to find out we were expecting our first child. We had Abbey, then Josh followed quickly. I had a miscarriage and then along came our Will. And with the exception of pregnancy and right after, I still fit in that glorious pair of jeans. I was never going back. They were there to remind me that I could do really hard things.
For the last 14 years I have used those jeans as my way of reassuring myself I was still ok. They didn’t always fit the same, especially post third child, but they fit. As long as I could get them on, I was ok. I rarely ever wore them, I just used them to make sure I wasn’t gaining weight. They were 15 years old and out of style. But I held onto them for dear life.
This winter they were tighter than ever. My spirits plummeted. All my pants were tight. I was running. I was eating healthy. I knew I could drink less wine or skip dessert. But I wasn’t being lazy.
I was 41, though.
I began to realize that this wasn’t going to be as simple as it used to be. I was going to have to be more careful and work harder.
Those jeans began to glare at me from the spot on the shelf.
I didn’t have to try them on to feel bad, all I needed to do was look at them. And every time I opened my closet, I wanted to cry. I hated those jeans.
I had become a prisoner to them.
Several weeks ago I opened my closet and felt that deep ugly shame that I couldn’t fit in them the same way. And, I was tired of their gaze. So I made a big decision-
The jeans had to go.
This may sound crazy to you! It was just a pair of jeans. But they had become a reminder of old feelings and addictions. They had too much power over me.
So I donated those jeans back to the universe. Someone at Goodwill is going to be shopping and find a great deal. That makes me happy, they weren’t mine to keep anymore.
So if there is something staring you down in your closet- and it’s making you feel all those bad feels, LET IT GO.
There is way too much life left to live.