“Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.” —Arthur Ashe
When we have a big goal, it can seem insurmountable. As the pandemic wound down, I finally addressed a weighty situation. Yes, I’d picked up some pounds during the pandemic, lots of people did, but it’s not like I was tiny before that. Honestly, I can’t blame COVID for everything. So I downloaded an app on my phone, figuring I would leverage my screen addiction. It worked for me, I couldn’t believe something finally worked, and while it took me a year, I lost nearly 60lbs. It’s been three years since then, and most of it is still gone. I feel better and my health is better, so that’s a win.
At first, I thought I’d dash off to the mall and buy all the cute clothes I could finally wear. I’d be instantly popular. I’d be sitting at the cool table…Ok, never mind, there is no cool table, but really, I thought this was the prize, some number. Faithful readers (both of you) will remember how fashion-challenged I am, so of course I don’t have a closet full of cute new outfits because I hate the mall. Who needs all that anyway?
I didn’t do a big cleanout or a binge shopping spree. I bought one pair of jeans, two pairs of shorts, and a few shirts. That’s it. Most of what I own now is ten years old, baggy, and oversized. After three years, I only recently donated some larger sizes. They’d been in the back of the closet, because somehow I convinced myself I’d wear them again. They seemed convinced, too, sitting on a high shelf, almost mocking me, like “We know you, Brenda. You’ll be back.” Ditching them was a good step.
Recently, I took another step. I tried clothes on in the dressing room. I stopped doing that years ago, because let’s face it, is there a worse place to try on clothes? Small spaces, bad lighting, mirrors that I’ve always thought were warped on purpose. I would guess at sizes (but always extra large, or higher), buy basics like elastic waist pants, and call it done. I’d try them on at home, and more often than not, I would return them all. This week, though, I’m swamped; everything I own makes me look disheveled, and I don’t have time to mess around. Into the void I went—no depressing, poorly designed, closet of doom was taking me down.
The lighting is still horrible. Seriously, you know why brick-and-mortar retail is sinking? No one wants to spend time in a white box with a fluorescent light buzzing overhead like a wounded hummingbird. If we’re so advanced, how come this is still the norm?
No more dressing room denial; it would be settled once and for all. I was going in, and as God as my witness, I was coming out with something that fit. There was nothing wrong with me when I was bigger, and there is nothing wrong with anyone based on a clothing size. How did it take me so long to realize that? I have a theory that at least part of it is that the people who make women’s clothes are evil trolls who are just out to screw with our heads, because I don’t know a single woman who knows what size she actually wears, but that’s a different column for another day.
I walked out, and the saleslady, who was racking the clothes, asked, “How’d you do?” Fantastic, that’s how. Much to my surprise, everything worked—the colors, the styles, and sizes. We chatted about that, and this total stranger was happy for me. I was happy for me, but not because of the number on a tag. I was happy because I’d ignored the numbers, the mirrors, and the broken door latches. I banished the chorus of, “Who do you think you are coming in here with that size?” that constantly ran through my head. The real win? Conquering the noise and going with what works. I bought everything I tried on, which has never happened.
Know this: No size tag defines anyone. No scale can dictate who you are. There are no time limits, no weight limits, and no size limits. Wear what makes you happy, toss what doesn’t. Arthur Ashe is correct. Where we are is the starting line, what we have will be enough, and knowing what you can do is everything.
