It felt as if they were staring at me, but this time I finally had the upper hand. The cool denim made its' way up over the once familiar curve of my body, but this time it felt quite foreign, and a little uninviting. They no longer glided so smoothly, but rather needed more pull, and offered less give when I attempted to zip them. As I went to pull the button closed, it obeyed, but seemed to scowl at me. Lets face it. I no longer fit. I'm pregnant. About a trimester.
Anyone who has ever gone through the breakup of their "sick jeans" may relate to the feelings of which I speak. For that matter- those who have outgrown any clothes, had the winter blues lazy days, had the bikini body mad dash fad craze, or even just the typical freshman fifteen may relate. The actuality and feeling of physical growth that should be a natural part of life, but I so long found morose, and loathed myself for. And to be truthful, some days still do. Congratulations- it means I am human, and so are you.
Tonight I peered over the jeans that I was so long a slave to. That I so long abused my body for, and did anything for, so long as I still fit into them comfortably with a little bit of wiggle room-- and I smiled because they were too small. These jeans no longer control this part of my life. Not today. Not again. There are more important things.
While I may not be the thinnest in the room, and I may never fit the "skinny jeans" again- I do know my high C's and D's are starting to sound pretty damned great. Nice, clear, and resonant. Perhaps because there is finally a home and body there to ground myself in. Because I've decided that I care more about my health, and being able to still sing five or ten years down the road, rather than being the thinnest person in the room.
The girl I see, and the woman inside are still so often two separate entities. I'm working on it. It's nice to be able to grow with her though. To see people, and how their impressions change. To stop being called fragile, and seeing looks of concern when people believe I will break- when I could give seven shits less- to entering a room with a new desire for adventure, and a purpose. To have the confidence, and hear from others of the resonance in my voice, or the glimmer in my eyes, and passion for the things I love that has always been there, but was never seen through the fear.
I am done letting fear, and control drive me. My past is not going to define my future unless it is refining it for the better. I'm still working on my masterpiece.
So tonight I let go of those jeans- I hope they go to a young girl. Who should be that little. Or maybe a burn barrel. That too. And in return- I leave behind that control, and I set forward to what's in front of me because I don't know quite what it is, an
d it may be nerve wracking in the unforetold- but so far- that's been the best part.
Anyone who has ever gone through the breakup of their "sick jeans" may relate to the feelings of which I speak. For that matter- those who have outgrown any clothes, had the winter blues lazy days, had the bikini body mad dash fad craze, or even just the typical freshman fifteen may relate. The actuality and feeling of physical growth that should be a natural part of life, but I so long found morose, and loathed myself for. And to be truthful, some days still do. Congratulations- it means I am human, and so are you.
Tonight I peered over the jeans that I was so long a slave to. That I so long abused my body for, and did anything for, so long as I still fit into them comfortably with a little bit of wiggle room-- and I smiled because they were too small. These jeans no longer control this part of my life. Not today. Not again. There are more important things.
While I may not be the thinnest in the room, and I may never fit the "skinny jeans" again- I do know my high C's and D's are starting to sound pretty damned great. Nice, clear, and resonant. Perhaps because there is finally a home and body there to ground myself in. Because I've decided that I care more about my health, and being able to still sing five or ten years down the road, rather than being the thinnest person in the room.
The girl I see, and the woman inside are still so often two separate entities. I'm working on it. It's nice to be able to grow with her though. To see people, and how their impressions change. To stop being called fragile, and seeing looks of concern when people believe I will break- when I could give seven shits less- to entering a room with a new desire for adventure, and a purpose. To have the confidence, and hear from others of the resonance in my voice, or the glimmer in my eyes, and passion for the things I love that has always been there, but was never seen through the fear.
I am done letting fear, and control drive me. My past is not going to define my future unless it is refining it for the better. I'm still working on my masterpiece.
So tonight I let go of those jeans- I hope they go to a young girl. Who should be that little. Or maybe a burn barrel. That too. And in return- I leave behind that control, and I set forward to what's in front of me because I don't know quite what it is, an
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