Today marked a new beginning in the form of not-so-skinny jeans.
Today, I found liberation in the form of laying to rest the clothing I had bought when I was at my skimpiest, at the peak of my disease, and at the all-time-lowest point in my health; my mother has dramatically dubbed the numbers on the tags of those jeans my "death size." That's almost what they were, chilling as that is.
As I tried to force my body into the mold that "death size" stubbornly enforced, an old, ruthless part of me, the part that still clings to the disordered ways of thinking, wanted to let me linger before the mirror, scrutinizing every piece of my body that was restricting me from filling into those pant legs more gracefully.
Today, I said no.
I said no to the jeans.
I said no to that number I absurdly idolized for too long.
My healthy body was not doing the restricting. No, it was the skinny jeans. The health that has clung to my bones since gaining weight wanted to be free, to be welcomed by clothes that fit, and today was the day that would happen.
As I went shopping today, I feared the inevitable trip to the fitting room to confront yet again my old nemesis: the mirror. But today was different. Today was a celebration of an increase in number, not a condemnation. That increase in number took on a new meaning: a blessing, a reminder that I was beating my disorder. The softness that has been incorporated into my frame represents the richness of God's grace, and a reminder of His perseverance. As I tried on clothes, I viewed these once undesirable body changes as battle scars, as treasures, as signs that God has worked on me.
Today, I walked from the fitting room with my head held high. Today, God won another battle for me in my war against this disease. Today, I was again assured that I can have a spirit of confidence that God will win it all!
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