Like everything else in my life post-recovery, I have a complicated relationship with shopping.
Through mainstream media and fashion, we are sold the idea that a size zero or size two equates to happiness: the best clothes, the hottest men, etc.
For awhile, I bought this idea, too.
I worked hard to lean out my normally size eight body. I always ate well and exercised hard, so I couldn't understand why my body naturally gravitated and felt comfortable at a size eight.
That's too big, I told myself.
As I fell down further of the path of restricting, the weight started to slip off my body. Fast.
One would think this would have made me happy, but I was more uncomfortable than ever before.
Trying on clothes, I wasn't sure what to do. I have always preferred my clothes to fit me loosely rather than tight. It's a combination of the fact that I live in Florida, and want lighter, and looser fit clothing in the heat, with the added factor that I have always been uncomfortable with my femininity. Having what I deemed a 'larger' body, i.e a bigger chest, bigger legs, etc. I didn't want to show that off.
I was always sold the message of small, and to do what you can to make your body smaller, take up less space.
Now that my frame was smaller, I thought I might try on smaller, tighter clothes. Having a distorted perception of my body, I thought I looked good and wanted to show it off.
But I was still unhappy.
My body started to feel like a shell. An overworked, under-nurtured shell. There was no longer anybody home. No one inside.
As I looked in the mirror trying on clothes, I would begin to get upset as bones replaced where skin once protected what was inside.
I looked away before the tears started to fall.
I was sold the idea that a size zero would make you happy, you would look your best, feel your best, etc. However, having strayed so far from where my body felt naturally comfortable, I was anxious all of the time. This wasn't my body.
I would throw the clothes over my head quick enough to tell if it fit, than I would take it off just as fast and decide whether or not I would make the purchase.
I need to have something that fit.
I was going through clothes fast, and I couldn't stop.
Even my underwear began to slide off my body inside my shorts.
It was too big. Nothing fit.
It felt like a direct daggar to my heart to watch my moms face fall as she watched me go into the fitting room with the smallest women's size in the store, and come out with three fingers in the side of the jeans, demonstrating it was too big.
My mom cried, and I returned to the fitting room so I could, too.
When the doctors told me that it was no longer safe for me to exercise, I gathered up all of my activewear from my closet and hid it in a drawer in the corner of my room, that I knew I wouldn't open and have to come face-to-face with on a regular basis.
It hurt me to see them. It tempted me to see them. I wanted to exercise.
Living in South Florida and being dangerously underweight, I spent most of the year, and all of summer in over-sized sweaters. I was always cold.
I will never forget the feeling of immense shame when my mom had to take me to the kids section of Walmart in order for me to find clothes that fit.
I was just released from the hospital and desperate to get out of my clothes from the hospital closet. I wanted to throw them away, and never think of them again.
My mom picked out a few T-Shirts, and long sleeves from the boys section in various colors, and two sweatshirts to keep me warm.
As we walked, I held up my underwear with one hand to keep it from sliding down into my pant leg.
I was embarrassed to admit to my mom that I needed underwear that fit me. Having to hold it up throughout the day was making me angry and filling me with shame that my body was disappearing more and more everyday.
I whispered to her, and without a second thought my mom went over to the girls section to look for a pair that might fit me.
A 21-year-old woman should not have to be shopping in the girls section for clothes, let alone for underwear.
As a group of hot guys my age passed, my mom held up a pair of Halloween underwear with cat ears on them,
"how about these honey?"
I looked at the boys and in that moment hung my head and wanted to sob. This was anything but sexy.
My once curvy body has been diminished to that of a six-year-old girl, and to add shame to the already blazing fire, it had cat ears and glitter.
As my body healed and I began to recover, my body started to fall back to it's natural weight, where it functioned best and felt healthiest finding clothes that fit again became a source of stress.
Luckily for my budget, I hadn't thrown away my old clothes before I had gotten sick, but in some way, it felt like a loss as they started to become less and less loose on my body.
My mom helped me accept the fact when she said,
"just remember, these clothes [referring to the smaller clothes I had purchased] were never supposed to fit your body."
Rather than becoming disheartened when the smaller sizes didn't fit, I took my mom's advice and stopped trying them on. They were never my clothes. That was never my body.
I rounded them up in a bag for GoodWill, and donating them, almost as if disposing the evidence that they had ever existed in my closet. They were never intended to be mine.
When it came time to purchase new clothes, I reunited with my old enemies- the fitting room, and the mirror.
I tried not to look at the sizes of clothes past the point of picking them off the rack.
If they fit and I felt comfortable, I would buy them, if not I would simply return them to the rack and try again.
To this day, I hate trying on clothes, but I take a few steps to make it easier mentally on myself.
First, I try not to judge my body. Which is the most difficult of all. If I am feeling bloated, I opt not to go into the fitting room at all, knowing the disordered part of my brain will have a field day dissecting my flaws and reminding me of them. In relation with this, once I feel that disordered part of my brain start to pick, I take it as a sign that it is time to stop. Shopping is no longer fun, and it is time for me to call it a day and do another activity.
Second, I don't focus too much on the size. I choose the size that I feel most comfortable with, which is a larger, looser option, and if it doesn't fit, I don't berate myself on why I can't fit into that given number. Every store has a different cut of clothing, so in some stores, you may be a different size than in others. In some stores, the clothing runs small or runs large.
Third, I'm trying to put in practice more to stop following trends and what I see in magazines, and stick with what I know I like and feel comfortable in, that way the pieces will have longevity for me, and will be a staple in my closet.
For me, I like activewear, leggings, shorts, and T-Shirts when I'm at home, when I'm working, I like a loose blouse with pants, or a dress and cardigan. Those are my staples and what I feel best in. It works for me, may not work for everyone else. It's not supposed to. That's why they call it personal style.
I think given my past of distorted body perception, trying on clothes will always be a source of stress for me. But, I'm slowly realizing that it doesn't have to be. There are steps to make it easier and a more pleasant experience.
