For quite some time now, I've been in the midst of some sort of mid-life crisis. Ok, so I guess I can't really call it "mid-life," since I'm only 36 -- but I'm having some sort of crisis, nonetheless. I'm not sure what my beef is with creeping closer and closer to turning 40, but part of me refuses to let go of the period of time in my 20s and early 30s when I was slim, trim -- and never had to buy any item of clothing that was bigger than a certain single digit size.
Yep. The mid-single digits. That's my cut-off size, as silly as it may sound. And when I say "cut-off" size -- I simply mean when I have to buy clothes any larger than that, my self-esteem goes directly into the gutter.
I know it's not rational or healthy, but it's the reality I'm living in right now. (And it really sucks.)
Last spring, I started working out at least five or six days a week. And while I did start to tone up, I didn't really lose any weight -- which resulted in me having to go up a dress size. I clearly remember going into the Ann Taylor dressing room feeling all confident because I'd been busting my ass in the gym. Then I went to put on a cute little dress in the size I'm used to wearing and it did not fit. I reluctantly went back out onto the sales floor and returned to the fitting room with the next size up -- which zipped with no effort.
And even though I convinced myself that I was ok with wearing a larger size at the time -- it finally broke me to the point where I stopped working out because it was making me "fat."
Fast forward to present day. Here I am, in the dead of winter -- and I've started exercising again simply because I cannot stand being sedentary, and I need the stress relief to get me through these long weeks. And I know very well that because I'm putting a little muscle back on, I may wind up having to dig out the larger sizes again or, worse -- go shopping for new clothes in said larger size.
But when and if that happens, I have to find a way to come to terms with it and be ok with it. I'll just have to keep telling myself that it's better to look good in bigger clothes than be all sorts of uncomfortable and spilling out of the little ones -- and hope that my confidence comes up enough to allow me to believe it and be ok with it.
I mean, no one besides me even sees the number on the size label, so why do I let it control me and make me feel less attractive? Again, it has to be the whole mid-life crisis thing. And one of these days, I'm just going to have to accept that I'm not 25 anymore and I'm never going to be 25 again. And that's ok.
Size is only a number. It's not worth getting down in the dumps over as long as whatever clothes I'm wearing fit well, look good, and make me feel like a million bucks.
Now if only I can repeat that statement over and over again until I actually start to believe it, I'll be over this crisis in no time.
Do you ever get discouraged by sizes?
Image via Amy Guth/Flickr