An immense amount of contrite quotes say something like, “love me when I’m at my worst, least deserve it, or even when I don’t love myself.” These have always sounded needy to me, perhaps a bit melodramatic too. I’m starting to think I didn’t understand the deeper meaning (if one can derive such a thing.) It seemed so foreign to me that someone should love you unrequitedly, believe in you strongly, and support you regardless. What’s in it for them?
More importantly – what does any of that have to do with me splitting my pants?
As you could see from my weight-to-relationship chart, the past few years have been filled with more “ups” than “downs.” My better half has witnessed my anguish about this on more than one occasion, but not any moments more memorable than the second time I split a pair of pants.
Yes, second time.
I’m not really sure why the first time wasn’t a big deal. I’d never split a pair of pants, due to size, prior to 2013. The year of split pants. Maybe because the first loss was a pair of old, skinny jeans from college. I mean, they’re called skinny jeans. I was not going to beat myself up about that – I wasn’t skinny like I used to be – didn’t necessarily mean I was fat, right?
The second pair of pants were a favorite pair of mine – gray, work pants, high-waisted, with six buttons on the front and look nautical-ish. So lovable. They zip on the side and I did notice the zipper was working a little harder than it used to, but nothing crazy, right?
One morning, when my hubby-to-be was home, I was getting dressed for work and the zipper broke. It had enough. It was no longer willing to charade fitting into this pair of beloved pants. I broke too. It was the morning I finally faced the imbalance in my life from convenience and stress-satisfying.
I can’t remember if I cried or not. I don’t remember what our conversation was. I remember being in a really dark place, unsure how I got there, even more nervous to try and get out. The weight I put on didn’t scare me. The lack of control leading me to this point, did.
He didn’t ask or make of a big show of it but a few weeks later the pants were no longer shoved in a lost corner of our closet but mended and hanging back up. Ready to reprise their role when I was. I was so grateful for his belief in me even when I had lost belief in myself.
I had been nervous to try them on ever since. Cautious of hurting them or my ego. I hadn’t even intended to try them on today – I had pulled out a pair of my “fat” gray pants to go with a navy blue anchor top. After my morning run, I was feeling bold and ready. Ready to know one way or another.
They fit! Swimmingly at that.
I can’t help but smile when I think about how this moment never would have happened without my hubby-to-be. If it were up up me, those pants would have been donated or tossed so I would never have had to face them again.
Maybe those quotes about desiring a strong supporting actor aren’t so dramatic. One can only be so lucky.