The belt 

/ Thelidderary

For years, I wore the same belt; almost every day. I’d blame it on my job at the time, working at a library. I wore jeans, thus: a belt. Even “skinny” jeans needed this monstrous strip of leather and metal to hold my pants up. 

I kept this belt for a long time after I no longer needed it. I think it was sometime in March this year that I realized my jeans stayed up without help. Was it ed that whispered in my ear to keep it? I think so, as I remember telling myself just in case, I can always go back…

So I stashed the belt on a shelf and forgot about it. I admit, as a woman, to wear a belt all the time is a little odd, and mostly uncomfortable. It was almost like a punishment, albeit a subconscious one. I wore my belt to bed. I got used to it.

It became something of a comfort to tighten it, and make sure I didn’t go down a notch. So I guess you could say I missed it when I no longer needed to wear it.

A few weeks ago, I was sorting through a bunch of clothes and other things, and naturally, ran across the belt. I picked it up, and tried it on. Maybe not the smartest decision, but I can say now that it did no harm. I saw how much of a difference there was between the worn notch and my waist now. I marveled at all of the work those inches took, how much pain they caused. I took a few pictures, posting one to Instagram stating that I wasn’t sure what to do with this relic.

I ended up throwing it out with the rest of my trash. I wanted something a little dramatic, but I got busy and lazy, and tossed it into the bag with all of the other trash items going to the landfill that week. I think that’s where it belongs. I know it’s far fetched, and would likely never happen, but what if someone picked the belt up and used it? Would they be plagued by my previous actions? 

That belt saw me through a lot. I wore it through gains and losses, I wore it on the day my grandma passed, and the day before I got married. I wore it the day I was fired, and drove home in a flood of shocked tears. It was with me on my first appointment to my dietitian, doctor, and therapist. Under my shirt, hugging my waist, it was there. 

The day I threw my belt out, I freed myself from its restraint. It sounds silly, but since that day I feel more peaceful and relaxed. Sometimes letting go is the only way to receive more.

6 thoughts on “The belt ”

  1. Hey, that’s a really strong thing to do, go you! I was sort of the same with some of my old blades, I couldn’t throw them away (just in case), but it feels so good once you do. It shows how far you’ve come and how strong you are to not relapse. Never stop fighting! X

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  3. Isn’t it funny how we determine out self-worth based on belts, how jeans fit, if sleeves are tight or not, how shoes fit… all of that? I’ve done that too, especially with belts. The fit of jeans are a big thing for me. Due to surgeries I’ve had to wear what I call comfy pants most of the time limiting jeans to every now and then. I used to live in jeans. They don’t fit like they used to, that is for sure, and I take up more space on the chair but it’s okay now.

    Last month I blew out the backside of a pair of jeans. My first thought was how fat I am but in truth, those jeans were never designed for doing farm work. It was inevitable they’d blow out especially because I am very flexible and am able to squat down in a way jeans are simply not designed to do, ha! I finally had to just toss them. You can only put so many patches on jeans. The size of my jeans tells me I’m not fat but I’ve also accepted that how I see myself in the mirror may be skewed for life. It is also reflective of my mood.

    Thanks for writing this post. It was a great opportunity for self-reflection in my identifying with your achievement.

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