We all, I believe, have a “putting on tight jeans” ritual. Its the act in which we wiggle and worm our way into pants we want to fit. Pants we pray fit. For me, it’s step the left foot in, pause to access the comfort in that leg. Step the right food in, pause to access the comfort in that leg. Take a deep breathe and prepare for the process of moving the jeans over my butt and thighs. I slowly inch them up around my hips, doing a side to side shimmy with my knees to assist the process. I then proceed to do a slight bend at the waist, place my pointer finger in the back belt loop of the pants and lift the jeans over my butt. I shimmy back and forth a little more to get the button up to the highest position. Then with all my might I suck in and force the button closed. I stop to see if I can breathe. Usually I can’t. But if you’re like me, you’ve convinced yourself that if jeans can button, they fit.
Many of you read my post, Just Buy The Bigger Size where I talked about how much better we all look and feel when we are wearing jeans and clothes that actually fit us. Well I failed to take my own advice. This past week, I decided to venture into my bin of “pre-pregnancy jeans.” I picked up a pair of ripped jeans that I loved pre pregnacy. I struggled into them. They zipped. I wore them to work. They were not comfortable in the slightest. Fast forward to my commute home. I’m in the car with my co-worker and carpool companion and we get stuck in traffic. The type of traffic where you literally move an inch every 5 minutes. I had to pee, really really bad. Knowing that we still have a while in the car I come up with a brilliant and risky plan. I tell my friend that I am going to hop out of the car, run into the nearest restaurant, [it was Gotham Market if you’re familiar with NYC] and use the bathroom. I said, I’ll put the car in park and jump out and you hop in the drivers seat. Then, I’ll meet you wherever you have inched up to. We execute seamlessly, I’m in the bathroom in my too tight jeans. Now as we all know, putting on tight jeans is just as hard as pulling them down. AND in my attempt to quickly wiggle them down, I kid you not, I dislocated my thumb. Pain radiating through my whole hand. Now I’m sweating, in pain and in a panic that the traffic miraculously cleared and she’s driven home without me. I struggle to pull my too tight pants back up and run back to the car with my fly down and my button undone. I’m done with these pants for today and the foreseeable future.
Lesson learned. That was the universe reminding me that it’s just not worth it to wear the pants that are too tight. I remember back in the day, there was a tip that said you should wear tighter pants to dinner and you’ll eat less. For me, it’s always been the opposite. Wearing clothes that are too tight just reminds me that I am not where I want to be and that makes me emotionally eat. I’ve decided that my new style is: whatever fits, comfortably. No more of this wearing something that’s too tight nonsense. And no more mornings where I try on everything in my closet only to get angry and throw it all on my floor and the bed, to clean up later. I will keep the things in my closet and drawers that fit. The first thing I put on that morning, if it fits and it looks somewhat decent, I’m keeping it on and I am out the door and onto bigger and better things.
Happy [total eclipse of the heart] Monday!
The left picture is the illusion, the right is the truth. Live the truth <3