Looking Good Now

It was a rough couple of years. First there was unemployment, then there was work stress and financial stress and on top of all of that (I suspect) hormonal imbalances to boot. Basically, I’ve packed on the pounds.

I’m working hard at losing the weight but I’m finding that at 43 it’s not quite as easy as it used to be. What’s a girl to do? I work out. I eat less. I’ve eaten mini-meals throughout the day. I’ve starved myself. I’d drank enough water to grow gills. It’s been, and continues to be, a long and frustrating process.

I look in the mirror and wonder, “What happened to Karyn??? She’s disappeared under a sea of fat!” I don’t feel attractive. I don’t feel confident. I certainly don’t feel sexy. And despite my shopaholic tendencies I don’t feel like shopping either. I don’t want to buy clothes in my current size. I don’t want to be relegated to the ‘Womans’ section or Lane Bryant. I want my old body back or a reasonable facsimile.

It’s gotten so bad that I have practically worn out the few fitting clothes I have. I've had no choice but to do a little shopping. So one afternoon, I reluctantly ventured into Ross and approached my size. I headed into the dressing room with a sense of dread, my head hung low. I tried on what I’d picked out and I was horrified … not just by the size but by the unconscious transformation. I picked out frumpy, style-less, bland clothes. When I looked in the mirror, I felt less like me than I ever had before. I heard the ringing. This was my wake-up call.

I am changing. This is true. I am working on losing. I will not be this size and this weight forever. However, I need clothes now and I need to look good in those clothes now. I need those clothes to be a true reflection of me regardless of the size. So I came out of the dressing room handed the stack of bland clothes to the sales lady and made another pass at the racks.

This time I went for bright, rich and vibrant colors, not just the depressing blacks, grays and browns. I was able to find clothes that had more shape and style, not ill-fitting shapeless mumus. When I made the second trip to the dressing room, I fared better. I saw in my reflection clothes that not just fitted but reflected the woman that I am – funny, quirky and upbeat.

I got tons of compliments on two of the sweaters I’d picked out. It felt good, like I had recaptured part of myself I’d let go. I hadn’t realized how much weight had impacted my life. I had stopped feeling good about myself on the inside and it showed on the outside. I promised myself that day in that dressing rooom that it was going to stop.

The destination is important but so is the journey. So on the way to weight loss, I plan on looking and feeling my best. I owe it to myself.