You know you have a pair. They either used to fit you perfectly, before life had it’s way with you and changed your shape and size, or they never quite fit, but oh how you wish they did. I’m telling you now, get rid of them. Throw out those goddamned jeans.
And while you’re at it, get rid of that cocktail dress, that tiny bikini, and anything else that you believe is a motivating factor in your health and wellness plan. It’s bullshit of the highest order, and it’s the same kind of bullshit that the media is choking us with every single day. The kind that teaches us to loathe ourselves so we’ll buy more crap that will make us better. Crap can’t make us better, friends.
The next time you have cash to spare, buy yourself something pretty (clothes, not shoes) that fits you right now, and keep on keeping on. Your reward for caring more about your health and fitness should be longevity and feeling better, and if you happen to change sizes along the way, by all means buy clothes that fit you well, but don’t under any circumstances buy into the twisted lie that you only deserve to look attractive or fashionable if you could “just be a size…whatever.”
If you are truly stylish, you should be able to pull off colour and drama and interesting tailoring no mater what size you are. If your clothes don’t fit, get rid of them. If you don’t think you can wear something until you’re a different size, you probably can’t because you won’t have the confidence to rock whatever that particular article happens to be.
Keep on the path to increased physical activity, less sugar and starch, more vegetables, less red meat and pre-packaged foods. You deserve great health, even more than you deserve pretty things to wear. Keep motivated by appreciating the increased energy you have to spend on the activities and experiences you truly love.
You stayed within your calorie count three out of five days so far this week, you got up early and exercised twice, you drank lots of water every day, but then on a lark you tried to wear those stiff-ass jeggings that claim to have lycra (lies) and by three o’clock the clasp exploded open and you cried for ten minutes in the bathroom stall at Costco. All that hard work, and you still can’t squeeze yourself into the jeans. Take a breather sister and ask yourself “Who’s the real enemy here?” Is it your baby belly, the last vestiges of your body’s miracle of creating life, or is it those goddamned, painted on size whatever jeans that can only be a size whatever in a country where people can’t count?
You know I’m right. Untuck your shirt, let the belly hang out, and find something that fits your fine ass properly. You will never succeed if you keep knocking yourself down.