My Lifelong Obsession with Size and Shape and How I am Slowly Achieving Peace

Pants. Just the word makes me cringe. Is there anything worse than trying on pants? How about trying on pants after having a baby? Unless you’re talking yoga pants, it’s traumatic for many women including me.

I’ve always hated dressing rooms and felt as though the mirrors were almost intentionally distorted and the lighting purposely unforgiving. I wonder if I feel this anxiety more than other women. I don’t just hate shopping for clothes; I have to mentally prepare for it, and I still almost always panic in the store. I’ve spent the past 25 years stressing about my body; the size, the shape, the weight, the height, etc. That’s 9,125 days worrying and stressing about the same exact thing.

My pants-phobia was triggered big time when I had my son and obviously put on some weight during my pregnancy. I wanted everything to go back to normal the minute he arrived, and I desperately wanted to be able to button my pants again.

One of the most beautiful moments of my life was carrying him out of the hospital to go home for the first time. As much as I cherish that memory, it is sullied in part by my worrying that I couldn’t zipper my winter coat. He was just 2 days old, so clearly I was being incredibly hard on myself. What a trivial thing to focus on during such a magical once-in-a-lifetime moment for me as a new mom.

I could kick myself for letting those intrusive thoughts steal some of my joy.

During my maternity leave, some weight came off naturally, but by the time I returned to work, I felt disappointed because my clothes were still tight, and I was upset not to be back to the same exact size I was pre-baby. It really bothered me, perhaps in a way that a lot of people would consider unhealthy. I don’t disagree. The idea of buying new clothes made me cringe. Now it’s been 9 months and I’ve lost almost everything. You would think I would be thrilled, right? Not exactly. I’m just as hard on myself.

I wish I could give you a story about a woman who learns to love her body, but I can only offer you reality: I struggle all the time, but I am working on it.

I’ve dieted and exercised in vicious cycles for as long as I can remember. Having a baby only intensified my issues, especially once I was back to work. I spent most of August sore and uncomfortable because I was exercising so hard. I was hyper-focused to get myself “back on track” and “make progress.” Those are the phrases I hear so many women use as we go round and round in this never-ending game losing and gaining the same weight. As hard as I worked out and as healthy as I ate, my pants size remained the same. Even though I was absolutely getting stronger, mentally and physically, I didn’t cut myself a break.

For most of my life, I’ve associated all that is good in the world with the size of my pants. When I was a size 4, I felt like everything was perfect. Only it was like walking a tight rope. I couldn’t do it for long. At a size 12, I felt shame. Welcome to the rollercoaster that was my teens, 20s and half of my 30s. It is only recently that I’ve finally asked myself, what if THIS is the size and shape that I am meant to be? Maybe the real problem isn’t the pants, but rather how I see myself. You don’t spend thousands of hours on a therapist’s chair without realizing eventually that there might be a problem with your own distorted thinking…

As I write this, I am amazed at how much good I have in my life. I have a beautiful healthy baby who loves me so much it makes my heart swell when I think of him. Having him has given my life new meaning. Some things matter less, and other things matter much more. My husband adores me (and has no idea, nor does he care what pants size I am). I have a really great career. I have several amazing girlfriends. I am healthy. My parents and most of my family are alive and healthy. None of that has a damn thing to do with the pants size that I wear, yet here I am, still fixated on it, wondering if people will judge me by how I look.

Last week I ordered a suit from the online consignment shop that I love. I ordered my normal pre-baby size and when it arrived I felt so excited. Until I put on the pants. They were really tight. Almost too tight to wear comfortably. I was bummed. I couldn’t exchange the size and most importantly, I didn’t want to be a different size. It felt like accepting defeat. I wanted to cram myself into the size I told myself I should be. I have lots of pants from this same store and they all fit me now, so why didn’t these fit? I remember tearing up, explaining to my husband that I just wasted money on a suit that doesn’t fit. Now that I’ve calmed down a little and given myself time to process this experience, I realized a few things. Designers all cut their stuff differently. Some pants in the same size can vary in their fit.

But let’s get real - my anxiety and stress is not about the actual pants themselves.

This is all about my distorted thoughts about the pants. Pants themselves are actually neutral. They are just sitting there (usually draped over my chair) until I start thinking about them negatively. If you’ve ever done any thought work, you know what I am talking about. Thoughts are very powerful and for a long time I’ve been held hostage by my own belief system. I am now challenging my own beliefs.

I think I’ve reached a place close to accepting that I am never ever ever going to be the pants size I was in college. Not because I am lazy or because I eat junk food all day. I am the size I am because this size is me at my best self at this stage in my life. I exercise almost every day, eat all my veggies and protein and take really good care of my body. I don’t even drink alcohol accept once in a blue moon. However, I have been feeding my mind a bunch of junk. I’ve been subscribing to a silly fallacy: If you work out and eat well, you will be skinny and then life will be perfect.

Let’s unpack that bullshit for a moment.

Even when I was my absolute thinnest after literally starving myself and running on the treadmill every day in high school, I was never happy. I was thinner and wore a smaller size, but it was very hard on my body and I never had the energy and zest for life that I do now. And as for perfect? My life is beautiful and fulfilling, but it’s not related to my size. I am working on reframing my thoughts and appreciating what my body can do, rather than just how it looks. I remind myself all the time that it carried a human being, protected him, kept him safe and fed him for 9 whole months. As cliché as it is, that is a miracle. I wish I let myself celebrate that and not focus on all the ways my body isn’t as good as someone else’s. It is an exhausting way to live!

While we talk about losing “the baby weight”, I think it’s safe to say that pregnancy changes our bodies permanently. Most of us are never going to be exactly the same. Pregnancy changes our stomach, hips, back, breasts, spine, etc and all of that effects what we see in the mirror and how our clothes fit. Having a child is a life-altering event in every sense of the word. My bones and ligaments had to grow, stretch and contort just to accommodate one growing, kicking, punching little human. As frustrating as it is when some pants don’t fit, having my son was worth it a million times over. Accepting these changes is a slow process. I am trying to undo years of distorted thinking.

So how do I finally make peace and where does the internal battle end?

I’m not at a place, at least now, where I think I will ever totally love my body. I don’t post myself in a bikini and hashtag body positivity quotes, but I am in full support of all who do. Everyone deserves to feel confident. I am also not in a place where I hate my body like I did in my teens, and I don’t mistreat it and starve it like in my twenties. I’m working each day very hard to see myself as someone who HAS a body, but who IS not JUST a body. I am someone WITH FAT, but I AM NOT FAT. My body does a whole lot more these days than fit into my skinny jeans and I am trying to appreciate my accomplishments. I’ve run hundreds of miles. I’ve biked even more. I’ve had major surgery and recovered stronger. I chase my child all over the house.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve struggled with these body image issues. It’s felt like a part of my identity. For the first time, I am starting to recognize how much precious time is lost to worrying about things I can’t change. Time is finite and every minute I spend worrying about what pants size I am is one less minute I have with my son. One less minute with my husband. One less minute of joy. One less minute of peace.

I’m very slowly embracing the idea of getting comfortable with being uncomfortable. I am telling my brain it’s okay that the pants don’t fit. It’s a pair of pants and there are plenty that will fit! I don’t have to love my body to accept it and to be grateful for all that it can do. I can however manage my thoughts about myself so that they don’t control my life and my happiness