If The Jeans (Don’t) Fit

Thumbs up if you recognize the reference there.


So today something happened. I was choosing my outfit very carefully since today is one of those ridiculously humid days that feel incredibly sticky and gross no matter what you do. Unfortunately, it’s a really difficult time to be body conscious. So my first instinct was to grab a pair of jeans that I’d bought roughly a couple months ago.

I tugged them on, zipped up the zipper and buttoned the button, and walked over to the mirror. Something was different. They fit more tightly. I could still get them on easily, but it required a bit more effort. I could feel them wrapped tightly around my legs, and my skin crawled.

I knew this was going to happen someday. When I was extremely sick, I had a massive thigh gap. My thighs have always been something I’ve been self-conscious about; because of my playing sports and leading an active lifestyle, they were always more muscular than the thin, slender thighs of other girls that I so envied. I haven’t had the unfortunate experience of not being able to fit into something I own yet. But I know it will happen at some point.

I’m not really ready for it to, though. Immediately, the instant I pulled on the jeans and secured them around my waist, the words fat failure floated into my mind like a ton of bricks.

And that was a terrifying thought to have. Because beforehand, what I did when I felt that way was to use behaviors. I would restrict and exercise myself far past what my limitations should have been in order to try and achieve what I desired. Of course, looking back, I know that my eating disorder would never have been satisfied until I completely disappeared. But back then, it seemed only logical. Become smaller, and there was less of me to be dissatisfied with.

However, I’ve had some time to process this situation. True, the jeans still fit. Who knows if they still will in another month or so? This is evidence that my weight has indeed been redistributing.

And I’m glad about that. I’m grateful I don’t look like a skeletal walking stick anymore. I’m grateful for my curves and the ability to fit into clothes that not too long before were far too baggy and sagged off my frame.

It’s a sign that I’m winning. I’m beating my eating disorder, one bite at a time.


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