You Are More Than a Number

“You are more than a number, it does not define your worth.”

I know this. I’ve repeated this mantra so many times that I honestly believed I was on the other side of this battle.

I’m not.

I recently ordered a pair of jeans online. When they arrived I realized I had ordered the wrong size. I tossed them on a pile in my closet and moved onto other tasks that day. Fast forward and it’s Jean Friday at school.

Digging through my vast selection (let’s be honest I own way too many pairs of jeans but truly only wear 3). I accidentally grabbed the new pair in my haste to get ready. What the hell…I might as well try them on.

Hold up. Should I try them on? Panic washed over me. What if they fit? What if I am “that” size? I froze.

Nothing can quite sends one into a tailspin like “what if’s”.  I wanted to be stronger than this, but in the moment when it mattered I was trapped in my own manufactured fear. The past year I have gained weight, I acknowledge that as I transitioned to intuitively eating and worked on healing my relationship with food this could be a side effect.  My body has been in flux adjusting to the nourishment that it lacked in the past few years. Logically I know this is normal, but I am struggling to come to grips with all the changes I physically see.

So now what? While the fear flooded my head I stood in front of my bathroom mirror jeans in hand feeling like a total fraud. So much for conquering diet culture on my own turf. The self pity quickly turned to anger.  Nope. Not today. I am so sick of living in fear. Enough was enough. I was so freaking mad at myself for allowing the self hatred to enter my world again. Screw it…on the jeans went.

Ok. They kind of fit. They kind of were comfy. They kind of looked good. Do I wear them to work? Could I? Should I?

YES. Yes, I should wear them. I owe myself the chance to be comfortable in my clothing and prove that I can overcome this hurdle.

So that is what I did. I put them on. The struggle was real. I hated every minute of how uneasy I felt. My insecurities were hanging on as I headed out the door, but quickly moved to the back burner of my brain as work became frenzied as only Friday’s can. Before I knew it the day was over. No one noticed or cared about the size of my jeans. Moral of the story, my ability to do my job and be my best self has NOTHING to do with the number of the tag of my jeans. Does it still bother me whats on the label…yes, but less than it did the day before. I call that a victory. I’ve come to learn and accept that my recovery is not made up of huge massive leaps forward, it’s built by baby steps and I finally I feel like I’m making those steps in the right direction.

Be kind, happy, & active.

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