The Alpha Blonde


This article was written on 15 Nov 2013, and is filled under body image, Check In.

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Extra Large Pajamas.


Dropped by my friendly neighborhood Target tonight because I needed dog food and cat food and soy milk.  I have been avoiding the clothes section for months because I have been afraid of another fitting room breakdown, but alas- the time has come for PJ’s.  The last time I bought pajamas was right before going into the hospital with Mollie, my almost-5-year-old.  The pants are torn at the waistline so that my hips are exposed between the fabric and the elastic waistband.  Not cute.

I grabbed a set of XL pajamas, the kind all wrapped up with a bow because after a mexican food dinner I was in no mood to a fitting room, and called it good.  No matter how big I’d gotten, surely XL’s would fit thanks to drawstring technology.

Funny thing, I got home and they fit perfectly.  Funnier yet, I don’t care much.

I’m not excited that I’ve gained weight, but I’m mostly at peace with it.  It’s part of a conscientious effort not to count calories or worry too much.  I’ve been balancing my cupcake benders with days on end of kale for lunch and have felt good.  I’ve made a very depressed girl of myself when I count, weigh and worry.  I’m fat, but I’m overall pretty happy.  Fewer mornings of crying before getting dressed, even though I have less to wear now that I’ve grown out of all of my cute clothes, but damn.  The mania is gone.

Wearing my XL pajamas feels like a sort of badge of honor.  No one pats you on the back and says “great job” when you gain weight, they have no clue that it might mean freedom from obsessively over-thinking the process of weight loss and weight gain.

But seriously, how shitty is it that I even feel obligated to explain how comfortable I am in my mom jeans?  I know I won’t get any applause until I lose weight and then everyone will be all over my ass saying how proud they are that I was so dedicated to losing it- and it’s because women just can’t be the weight that they live most freely at.  I love food, but what’s funny is I guiltily, bingingly love food more when I worry about it.  My relationship with the morsels I put in my mouth is toxic because I worry that no one will love me or take me seriously if I’m not passably average in my body shape.  That is total bullshit.

So I’m on the upswing.  And someday I’ll get weak and start counting calories again.  And I’ll become obsessed and flip out and spend every minute of the day with an inner monologue worrying about if my chin has doubled since my last snack.  That’s how it goes, but tonight I’m going to enjoy my comfy gray pajamas and fall asleep guilt free.

One Comment

  1. […] days all was right with the world and I was comfortable in my own skin. I’d blogged recently about my pajamas and how I was okay with my body and not calorie […]

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