TW mention of weight loss, but no numbers.
Today, on a whim, I bought a dress. A cute denim dungaree style dress. The type I have always adored.
And yet, instead of being delighted with my frugal €10 purchase, I am ashamed.
The reason for my shame is that I bought it in the Children’s Department, and it fit. Yes, I bought the largest size available, so a large kid. But that doesn’t make me feel any better.
I have “always” bought clothes in children’s departments. Or at least that was true until I realised my tiny size was not due to being ‘naturally thin’ but to unwitting restriction. And so I put in a huge effort into gaining weight and cast aside my tiny clothes. And it felt good. Good to finally develop adult proportions, to fit into adult clothes. I even managed to gain an inch in height. Not bad for a 38 year old!
But the last year has not been good to me. My digestive issues, my fatigue, my general ill health, have all conspired with my anxiety, to push me into a downward spiral.
And this dress is the proof of that. As if I needed more proof. I don’t weigh myself, but was weighed at a recent hospital visit and the number on the scale was back to my ‘usual’ number. The number I was back at the start of recovery. Not the lowest I’ve ever been, but an indication of how far I’ve slipped.
For me, losing weight means I’m losing my health. Losing the fight. Losing hope. Losing my mind.
I think I’ll return the dress. I think that’s the grown up thing to do in this situation!
[image of a female presenting person, from neck down, wearing a short, light blue denim dungaree style dress. ]