I went shopping and didn’t cry.
I hated it.
I didn’t want to go (but I really didn’t want to hang out at home with my family).
I barely glanced in the mirrors (instead relying on my mom who insisted that I needed some new summer clothes and was treating me), I was totally negative about what I could and couldn’t wear (I may or may not have mooed at myself. Maybe.), I refused to try on anything that wasn’t made of stretchy cotton and/or didn’t involve an elastic waist. Also, no pants or shorts.
We shopped for over two hours and I got two shirts.
It wasn’t a lot of fun. I hate dressing rooms. I wanted to kick the petite little girl trying on barely there bikinis. And, yeah, there was a lot of self-criticism and I’m certainly not happy with my soft, doughy body. I’m not comfortable in my own skin. I looked at the size medium clothes with envy- I used to wear that size. That shirt would look adorable…if I could wear it in a medium. So much internal negativity.
I’m happy enough because I didn’t cry. I didn’t break down. I didn’t feel like running away. I wasn’t wishing I could be somewhere else- like getting a root canal. I didn’t come home feeling depressed or angry. I didn’t cry. For the first time in almost a year I shopped for clothes and didn’t cry.
Baby steps, people. Baby steps.