I have gained a little weight over the last year. I can feel it in the every-so-slight tightness in some of my panties and the deepening crease in my sides. I have nothing but aging to blame for this seeing as everything else in my life has remained the same.
I can melt down and hate myself for the change. I can attack the issue with tighter eating and increased exercise and whittle it all away. Or I can relax into it think about how I feel in my skin.
The truth is, I feel surprisingly at peace with myself despite my new plumpness. The only reason I might want to move forward with an eye on slimming down is because I don’t want to have buy a new wardrobe. It’s a practical thing, not a self-loathing, must-be-thinner thing.
Twenty-five year-old Hyacinth would be hysterical. I remember when I hit 158 pounds after college and during my first desk job. I wanted to slice the fat off my body with razors. I don’t know how much I weigh now, but it’s not 158, I can tell you that. And that’s ok.
I have learned to look beyond the number and into my heart, my character, for self-worth. It’s a 20 year-old tragedy that it was ever tied to a number in the first place.
What a gift that the cord has been cut.