Friday, July 23, 2010

If the skirt fits...

It's a simple and sensical saying: When shopping, buy what fits.  So why do I have so much trouble with this?

I've had my fair share of body issues (sigh) and I can trace it back to when I was 10 years old and in grade four and someone called me "fat" for the first time.  Prior to this, I wasn't aware of how my body looked compared to other kids on the playground.  I was a bit of a tomboy and I ran and played and was all kinds of carefree.  I was still that way as a 10-year-old; it's not like I stopped all physical activity after age nine and packed on eleventy billion pounds.  But someone (and I wish I knew who, but honestly can't remember) decided I was fat and felt they should share this information with me.

Now, most people would just laugh this off and not care.  But even at 10 I internalized everything and suddenly, I was extremely conscious of my size.  AT 10 YEARS OLD.  Sure, I wasn't exactly tiny at that age, but I rode my bike everywhere, I figure skated and skied in the winter, I swam and jumped rope in the summer; I was a pretty active kid.  And now I was also fat.

20 years later, I'm still working on my body image issues and I'm pretty sure this is something I will work on for the rest of my life.  But back to this whole shopping thing: because of my body image issues, I also have size tag issues.  In my mind, there is a certain size I am comfortable being (and I'm not brave enough to share this with you) and if I have to go above this size, I'm more likely to walk away than try it on.  This has led to me purchasing too many things that didn't quite fit, leading to untold uncomfort during the day and many items of clothes that I just didn't wear.

Hooking up with my beau should have helped with some of these issues and I guess it kind of is.  I mean, now I'm with someone who lurves me the way I am and who tells me I look good and is okay if we leave the lights on and all that.  We even went shopping together for me back in the spring and I told him my size so he could help me look for clothes.  There aren't many people in this world with whom I've shared my clothing size.  The best part?  It didn't matter to him what size I wore; he was more concerned with finding items that fit and looked good on me.  (Note to self: adopt this attitude.) 

There was one thing when we were shopping: I tried on a skirt that was a little snug across my hips and the store had the next size up, only I was loath to actually try it on because I just didn't want to be that size.  I sucked it up though (but didn't suck it in) and tried on the skirt and it fit and I bought it and now I wear it all the time.  But when I got home, I promptly cut out the size tag, just in case the beau ever does my laundry.  I really don't want him to know what size that skirt is.

How does that other saying go?  Two steps forward, one step back, right?  Sigh.

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