I am currently blogging instead of finishing my project for the day: gathering stuff to sell at the Davis Flea‘s Yard-less Yard Sale tomorrow. I’ve always had a bit of a hoarder streak; even now I’m pretty sure my American Girl Doll (Felicity, if you were wondering) is tucked away somewhere at my parents’ house, waiting for the day I decide I need her again.*
So at the moment I really need to get rid of some clothes, which I’m especially bad at doing, in part because of the significance of getting rid of clothes that are now too small for me. Like pretty much every female I know, I’ve had a long and bumpy body image journey (I talked about that a bit here, too).
There was a time in college when I decided I’d count calories; I’d started it actually to prove to my then-boyfriend that it wouldn’t work. I got rather Spartan about it – I think at one point I was eating about 900 calories a day. As you’d expect, I quickly dropped a bunch of weight, and of course was delighted. A few people even voiced concern over my rapid weight loss, which I admit actually made me happy, too. It was never exactly unhealthy, but it was definitely not sustainable. I was a vegetarian at the time and rarely drank, which also helped.
So now, roughly nine years later, with meat and alcohol back in my diet, I am definitely not the tiny size four I was then. For a while now I’ve been saving old clothes for “when I lose weight again,” but I’ve decided to stop doing that. The fact of the matter is, I’m thirty now, and particularly if Mission: Conception 2k12 succeeds, my body is not going to be the way it was when I was in college. And the thing is, I’ve realized I’m just as comfortable – if not more – in it as I was then. My body is pretty freaking awesome and I am proud to inhabit it.
I’ve been following Rachele‘s blog for a while, and am particularly excited about her “I Am Proud of My Size” project. Here’s my contribution:
I wore this for some pre-Independence Day karaoke last week. It was super warm and I really wasn’t feeling like wearing clothes at all, so this was my compromise. I had put on the dress but wasn’t loving it and was about to change until the husband stopped me and convinced me to wear it. I wasn’t feeling particularly thrilled about the length and horizontal-stripeyness of it, but his enthusiasm swayed me, and in the long run, I was glad I wore it. So let’s hear it for husbands, breaking fashion rules, and feeling good in my skin.
* I mean, she’d better be – Mom, I’m looking at you.
** Hubby is still adjusting to his new role as de facto fashion blog photographer.