Maybe it’s just me

I’m trying to pinpoint when clothes caused me so much headache. It does bring me some anxiety to shop for clothes, because I don’t really want to connect the dots. I don’t want to admit, believe, discover, lament, my body size. 

It’s not a cause of a full on panic attack, but I do experience some discomfort when flipping through racks of clothing. It’s frustrating to no longer be able to wear the same old worn out clothes that I’ve had for years, to finally care about how I look. It’s annoying to try on clothes and not be able to just assume they will fit, perhaps loosely or not so loosely.

Shirts make me self-conscious, because despite what my husband says, I do have a bit of a “muffin top”. I never used to pay attention to whether or not my tops stayed where they were supposed to, but now if I’m not careful, my midriff displays itself. I have enough mixed feelings about my butt, I don’t need anyone else chiming in. True, low rise jeans may be the culprit…thank god high waisted slacks are back in style.

I remember times when I didn’t give a second thought to wearing the same clothes for days on end. I was simply too cold to find the will to let my skin feel the air on my exposed skin. Or I just didn’t have the energy to deal with it. Who cared anyway? I wore a belt for years whenever I decided to dress in jeans. I got so accustomed to wearing it that I’d often fall asleep with it clasped around my waist. My little brother once asked me why I wore a belt, because weren’t they for boys? Baby, if only you knew!

In my childhood years, jeans that fit me were difficult to find. I think it was Old Navy where I finally got a pair with some elastic adjusters in the waist (actually, it was probably a second-hand store, but Old Navy brand). Even then, the jeans didn’t fit exactly right, but it was better than a hem that fell well above my ankle. I didn’t really care though. I’d happily wear pants that were easier to find, my lean and lanky frame was just me. I never thought that much about it.
Recently I’ve found that jeans are a joke. I wear them, but they’re not comfortable. Every time I eyeball a pair that look like my size, I no longer think about the length of the legs, but whether or not my waist, butt, and thighs will squeeze inside. I’m new to this, but come on, I can’t be the only one. Jeans seem to be designed to cause shame, guilt, and anxiety about our bodies.

I wear jeans. I like how they look. I hate how they feel though. More than once I’ve felt a waistband on my skin, not cutting in, just snug and fitting, (you know, the style that’s “in”) and thought “I can’t eat, I’m getting fat!”. Ugh. As if fighting off thoughts that ed instigates isn’t hard enough.

It doesn’t help that jeans have weird sizes that (apparently) in certain area are a status symbol. Who decided to start at “00”, and why is it that this size obviously has nothing to do with inseams, waist size, etc? 

I really don’t care. I just don’t. There are so many other, more important things to worry about. But on some level, on eds level, I do. I still have these thoughts and feelings that I’m sure are the dregs of an eating disorder. 

My body is finally catching up with typical jeans dimensions, but my brain hasn’t. I’m working on finding peace with my body, food, and clothes. I guess if all else fails, there’s always leggings, right?

If you desire to read more about my problems with jeans, check out this post!


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