The First Step.

These are kinda tight, I thought as I wiggled left and right trying to squeeze into a pair of jeans. The fluorescent white light caught all the bumps in my thighs, whilst the precariously placed mirrors made sure I saw parts only a lover should. A few years ago, this size would have hung off me.

I haven’t seen my aunt for a while so I make plans to see her tonight after work. I’ve had a crappy week and it’s only Tuesday. Nothing, in particular, has sent me on this downward spiral but part of me wonders if it’s because I’m still reeling from the jean shopping on Saturday. In the end, I gave up and didn’t buy anything. I’m squeezed into a long floaty dress, the only ensemble that allows for a little breathing room when I need it most.

Her beautiful slim face beams at me as she answers the door. There’s an anxious sadness behind her eyes but her smile is wider and overpowers it. She wraps her delicate frame around me, squeezing me tight. As a child I dreaded seeing family, their tight grasp knocking the breath out of me. As an adult, I relish the opportunity to be held close to another human; especially for no other reason than pure love.

We talk about work, the weather, and the news. The path of formalities is now clear for us to dive into an ocean of chatter and gossip. Her hair is bright and silky, but it’s thinner than it used to be. I reach for another biscuit to dunk into my tea and I catch her side-eye from the corner of my own. My belly is already full from lunch and office snacks that I had too many of; I can’t help myself though.

“Are you eating well?” Here we go.

“Yes. Of course. You know me, love to cook” she purses her lips and smiles.

“It’s harder to cook for one though, don’t you think? So easy to cook too much and then you can’t let it go to waste”. Her long finger cheekily pokes me in the stomach, half tickle, half accusation.

I can’t deny that I’ve been sluggish at work, I’m making mistakes and it isn’t going unnoticed. I’m soothing myself with nights on the sofa and packets of store baked cookies. The way the dough softly crumbles in my mouth calms my soul. The triple chocolate melts over my tongue as I suck the juices out. They’re big enough that I have to start to eat them with two hands. The sadness returns when I reach into the bag and my sticky hands are only met with leftover crumbs.

I toss and turn all night, self-loathing boiling under my skin. The sense of sadness that I acquired at my aunts simmers in my lungs; it gives me shallow breaths. As a child, I never had issues with my weight. I wasn’t overweight, nor was I underweight. Just normal. I was semi-sporty, hockey being my chosen vice. I climbed trees and I rode my bike around the village until it was dark. I ate well and I moved a lot.

An advert on my Instagram flickers at me. I’ve seen it before. Obviously. This time is different though. It calls my name through the sugary sadness. It’s been made just for me. “Lose the weight by creating healthy habits. Join now, pay nothing for 3 months”. I’m tempted… very tempted. It couldn’t hurt? I know that I’d have to sign up for longer than 3 months… but that’s okay. I want this to be a long journey. I’m torn between loving myself as I am; accepting this current version of me and yet also longing for something that I lost at the bottom of a bakery bag. I dither on the website. Does wanting to lose weight make me fatist? No, I don’t think it does, but am I opening up myself for criticism? Yes.

A light wind taps at the car window; it’s unseasonably chilly for this time of year. The sun pushes through the clouds but they try to fight back. A string of adults walk towards the school hall after hours; mostly women but there are some men too. If I walk through those doors, I know there is no coming back. I’m committing myself to a journey I don’t know if I am ready to make. I don’t believe my weight defines me, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling that I have something to prove by slimming down. Some deep-rooted belief that the world will see me more when I’ve shed some pounds whispers to me.

When I’m not dropping the ball at work, I’m good at my job. Really good. I’ve moved through the ranks quickly and I receive positive feedback more often than not. I work hard and I’m known for delivering results. Yet somehow, I feel myself holding back. I wonder if this is a fear of really being seen? I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. Eyes weary, but somewhere in them, I’m reminded of the mediterranean sea. A rich blue that people always tell me they’ve never seen before. I like that about myself. They’re deep and full of love for the world around me. Freckles sparkling through my foundation remind me that whilst I’m not model pretty, I’m beautiful in my own way. My soul is kind, even when the world around me isn’t. My aunt; as much as I love her, pushes my buttons in a way not even a sibling could. I keep her close though, I keep her wrapped up in my love forever wishing the best for her.

Those things about me won’t change, regardless of how much I weigh or the size of my jeans. I grab the door handle and make my way inside.