Confidence OR How I Chose to Ignore the Tag and Love My Shape

30 01 2009

A while ago, in a publication I can’t recall, there was an article that kind of hit home. It was about a woman who wasn’t happy with her weight/image and decided that she would “reward” herself for reaching milestones. It then occurred to her when she hit a wall, that she would probably not ever reach her “ultimate” goal. This resulted in her accepting who she was and being happy.  I always felt a bit envious of her.

Now, does this mean that I have given up on my non-resolution? Nay.
It does however mean that I realized that I am (much to my poutingness) not a size 4, am not svelte, am not ripped, etc.  and that PERHAPS, I should embrace my um, transition, phase AND STOP LYING TO MYSELF.

Intending to just go to Barnes and Noble to deplete a gift card, I found myself at Macy’s with an exchange card that Steve would never use (his words, not mine) with $20 on it.
Scouring the racks, I found a top that is patterned (gasp!), bright (gasp!) and as the gasping alludes, Very UnStephanieLike.
Figuring that I should also look for pants/jeans as the top only took up 1/4 of my card (who’s a power shopper?  I am…) I picked a pair of jeans off the rack in the “realistic” size and not the “denial” size.
In the dressing room, a ray of light came down (probably from the halogens in the ceiling, but whatever) and as I turned to face myself, I did a double take.
Is, is, is that, me?  me in clothes that fit?  Clothes that make me look like an adult? No tugging?  No lumping? An outfit to be proud of?
And at that point, I let the size tag blur.
Gliding to the counter, my retail $88 ensemble came in at at modest $28, with $8 actually coming out of my pocket.
Sure, I care about my size (as much as I try not to) but I also know that I am taking active steps to become a size where I will not have to pretend that the tag doesn’t say what it says it says. And today, I am more confident that I’ve been in a loooonnngg time.