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Bigger and Better: A Story of Life, Self-Love and Thighs that Touch

Last year's shorts don't fit anymore. That's a discovery I made before work this morning. It's a hot one in Calgary and I've worn that pair of Levi's faithfully for three, maybe four, summers. I'm not going to lie to you, it stung a bit. And not just because the button pinched my muffin top. I had to face what I've known for a while, but could kind of ignore when I wasn't looking at it, like the mold growing on the tub faucet: I have gained weight in this past year.

I looked at myself in the mirror, orange fabric straining against the pressure of belly button and 'bad' decisions, and I thought: "You're fat now. Look how fat and ugly you are." So, I took off the shorts and stared down at the huge pile of unfolded laundry, wondering what to put on my fat and ugly body. I found a pretty dress made of stretchy fabric and I looked at myself again and thought: "Not bad." And then I slapped myself (figuratively) and screamed at the top of my lungs (not really): "What are you doing?! You look amazing. You are a gorgeous, powerful goddess and this gorgeous, powerful goddess is the same gorgeous, powerful goddess that didn't fit into those shorts thirty seconds ago. Get your shit together! Plus, if you insult her like that, she will probably smite you and stuff."

Then, I repeated my personal affirmations that help me when I feel bad. But, I realized rather quickly into that conversation that I was going to be late if I didn't stop talking to myself, so I tied my long dress in a huge dangly knot between my knees and hopped on my bike. And that, my friends, is the crux of an important lesson I'm learning:

I don't have time for this shit. I don't have the time or the energy to hate myself anymore. I have better things to do. Much. Better. Things.

On my bike ride, I still thought of my expanding midsection. But, instead of tearing myself apart, I thought about how odd it is that we refer to changes in our weight as "losing" and "gaining," When we lose weight, people comment. They praise us. Ask for our secret. We feel good. Strange, that loss of any other kind is usually a bad thing. We fear loss. But, to gain something- that is a happy occasion. We greedy humans love having more. And what was really that wrong with more of me?

This extra flesh just meant more tasty snacks, more drinks with friends, more time snuggled up with my partner. I'm not a worse person than I was when I fit into those shorts, I'm just different. I'm better, in fact. I'm bigger and I'm better. I may have gained weight, but I've gained a lot of other things since last summer, too. A family member, my first play, a deeper self-confidence, new friends. And those things are worth so much more than a three year old pair of shorts.

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