Work In Progress

Before , when I was working and 'moming' and home making and being a  Perfectionista----before the crash and the dark spiral and the hospital and the rebuilding----before all of that I used to be able to fit into a little red sheath dress. I have written about this dress before, here and here ; how my shape changed; about learning to be comfortable with the change to softer and rounder. For a time, I went to the gym and gave it a solid effort and when I didn't see results I shrugged and gave in to poptarts and brownies.  Instead of facing the muffin in the mirror I continued to buy bigger clothes.  To me, it was always about how the clothes felt and not the number on the scale.  I don't even own a scale! I bought some cute dresses that flared at the waist.  Tops were loose and pants were stretchy.  Trips to the local second hand store inched further and further up the size scale to find things that fit. But the red dress sat in the closet, a c...

Exhaling, zipper up,  material straining across hips, thighs compressed, the truth of my lack of motivation to do anything about my weight stared at me in the mirror in the form of a muffin top. Joy, confidence and self-worth sat discarded like the cotton, blue and while flowered sundress I'd abandoned in favor of something warmer as the sky shifted from light blue to pinks and purples.  They whispering amongst themselves, and refused to look my way when I tried to catch their eye.   These were my too-big-size-six-Old Navy-on-sale-I-know-I-am-a-perfect-size-four-at-Old-Navy-but-they-were-on-sale--capris .  As purple spread across the sky I slipped a loose sweatshirt over my head that covered the offense, reminding myself to look up a recent post I had done on being defeated by a red dress.... how long ago was that?  Time is a slippery thing.  WeekENDs do not distinguish them...

I have a tiny closet.  It might be 7 feet long?  Across one half, a bar rests at eye level where I hang dresses.  On the other side, two bars, one above the other, hold: pants, suits, skirts, sweaters and blazers. The closet floor holds a disarray of  boots, bags and assorted hangers.   Accustomed to wearing yoga pants in the hospital, I continued that practice when I came home in December---and January --and February......all the way through the outpatient program. Occasionally I would pluck a long cardigan from the closet but mostly the doors stayed closed. I wasn't working and had nowhere to go that required nice clothes.  When you have isolated yourself socially pretty much your whole life---there are no invites to weddings, parties, barbecues, baby showers, etc. so going to work then passes for social activity--so I wore fancy clothes and heels at work.  In February, 3/4 of the way through the adult day tre...