"I’ve been cuter. I’ve been thinner. And quite frankly, I’ve been happier."
Word vomit on gaining weight, losing the love of getting dressed, not drinking during the TWW + more uplifting stuff!
*This was supposed to be a Weekend Digress, but I digressed majorly in another direction. Enjoy.*
I feel like since the year started, our weekends have been packed. So that we were facing a pretty plan-less weekend last Friday was both refreshing and sort of daunting. I was so happy to have all this free time, but what were we gonna do with all this free time?!
As a surprise to no one, we were able to fill up our weekend with activities, starting with last minute dinner plans on Friday night. Zac’s one remote employee was in town with her husband, so he asked if they’d like to join us for dinner, they said yes, and a plan was made.
I used to love getting ready. Mentally deciding on an outfit ahead of time was one of my favorite ways to disassociate during boring meetings or conversations. But in the last year, it’s become riddled with anxiety and dread because of the weight I’ve gained.
Over the last three years, I’ve put on roughly 15 pounds. The first 10 were fine; I was able to maneuver around them and still fit into the majority of my clothes. The last five, though, ruined everything and, of course, were tacked on last year when I was already at my lowest self-esteem wise. This is entirely my fault as I willingly and knowingly “gave up.” As someone who once viewed exercise and health as a lifeline and integral part of my everyday routine, my early pregnancy losses destroyed me, and the last thing I wanted to do was move or take care of my dumb stupid body that continued to betray me. Why should I take care of it when it continuously let me down?
So, I gained five more pounds and getting dressed quickly became my least favorite thing to do. Right now today, as I write this, pants and dresses and skirts that fit me this time last year no longer zip or button properly. Shirts that use to hang on me just so have been taken over by my boobs and shoulders.
As of today, I hate getting dressed.
And the worst part is, I can’t really work on it right this second. It’s a weird spot I’m in — this limbo. Pregnancy purgatory. I’m heavy (for me) and want to tone back up, but we’re also very much in the thick of our pregnancy journey, so losing weight and crushing it at the gym isn’t really my focus. I’m doing what I can nutritionally and have lost a few pounds because of that (yay!), but my jeans still don’t fit and it just sucks.
I write all this because Friday night, I had a little moment. I had done my makeup and felt gorgeous; even my curls were cooperating and looked great. But then it was time to get dressed, and I slowly approached my closet like an electric chair was fired up and waiting for me there.
I stood, contemplating the few choices I have that actually fit me properly right now. I gingerly reached for a pair of jeans that were a bit too big on me this time last year, hoping that I’d fill them out just so with my extra weight. Imagine my reaction when I put them on and barely got them zipped up. They fit, but they were tighter than a Karen’s panty wad after they got her dinner order wrong.
I started to sob. I’m not proud of this, but I’m just being honest with you, reader. Big fat tears rolled down my face, as I whimpered “These were too big last year. I even thought maybe I needed a size down. And now they barely fit.”
“Emmaaaaaaaaaaaa,” Zac cooed from the bedroom, hearing my sobs.
“When did this happen? Why did I let it? I’m so angry at myself,” I blubbered.
I know I’m being horribly hard on myself — trust me. I know I’m still objectively pretty, still “small,” still stylish — but as one of my favorite podcasters, Jackie Schimmel, said on her episode last week about her postpartum self
“I’ve been cuter. I’ve been thinner. And quite frankly, I’ve been happier.”
This is just my reality right now, and I’m not looking for anyone reading this to assure me that I look good. The point of me sharing the visual of me sobbing shirtless in tight jeans on Friday is to remind whoever needs reminding that it’s normal and natural for your feelings about your body fluctuation to fluctuate. Some days I can lean into the weight I’ve gained and not think twice about it; other days, I sob.
I’m every woman.
Speaking of, let me word vomit about one more minor inconvenience while I have the floor.
It has to do with the TWW (Two Week Wait).