Something really strange happened today. I didn't even realize what was happening until a few hours later.
I love clothes. I love them more than anything I can think of, except for maybe coffee. For years clothes became a reward for all of my "hard work" and dedication to my eating disorder. If I was struggling with something else in my life, it seemed to instantly disappear as long as I could easily slip into a size zero.
So, as you can imagine, as I continued down the road toward weight restoration, shopping began to seem like torture. It was so triggering to be reminded of all the times I tried to fit into a certain size and the euphoric state it left me in when I did reach my goals. As I continue to get healthy, I'm starting to put more blame on fashion and society's expectations to be thin, for contributing to my illness.
Anyways, today I went shopping for the fourth time since I've been home from treatment. After trying on what seemed like every single pair of pants in the store, I finally found a pair that fit perfectly. The most exciting part of this whole thing is, I didn't even realize what size they were until after I got home. Since being home I have bought sizes anywhere between 2 and 9, depending on the store, and my weight hasn't changed one bit. Amazing.
For the first time ever, I can honestly say size does not matter. I'm still processing that thought & trying to let it sink it. This is huge.