Tight underwear

Panties that fit

In 2003, I weighed 197 pounds. Diligently, with the help of Atkins and yoga, I took off 37 pounds over the next 20 months. The majority of the weight came off during the first eight months of 2004, when I was separated from and ultimately divorced my first husband. I used to joke that I lost over 250 pounds–37 off my body and the rest from the dead weight of my ex.

In the fall of 2004, I went on a shopping spree, paying full price at Ann Taylor for beautiful wool pants and jackets for work, splurging on sexy size medium panties at Victoria Secret. I remember, as I plunked down my credit card on store counter after store counter, swearing to myself that I’d never let myself get “that heavy” again.

In fact, I continued to lose weight, going from a size 10 to an 8 to a 6 in 2005 after gall bladder surgery made eating pretty much anything incredibly painful. I loved being sexy and thin for the first time since I “aged out” from doing pageants in 1993 at age 24. At that point, I was “exercise anorexic”–I weighed 124 pounds, wore a size 4 and worked out at least four hours a day. I certainly wasn’t healthy. But at age 35, I was actually healthy thin.

Fast forward to yesterday. I stood in Kohl’s on the verge of tears because I needed to buy size XL panties.

I have put on every single pound I lost. I am frustrated as hell. I am ashamed of myself. I see recent pictures of myself and shudder: I look incredibly fat. But then, I can recall looking at pictures of me in a bikini as a size 4 and finding fault with my body.

Once I started eating again in 2006, I put on 15 pounds, getting back up to 165–which is fine for a big boned woman who is almost 5-9. I was still a size 8/10. Then I got the f-ing Mirena #2 in 2007 and put on 8 pounds, which made me unhappy because it would not come off. However, I was able to keep my weight steady until last July. Then the hormonal issues overwhelmed the healthy eating and gym-workouts. When working out began increasing my bleeding in March, I stopped completely and put on the final 10 pounds I’d lost 6 years ago. When I got on the scale at the doctor’s office in May to find I was 203, I almost cried. (I do a lot of that, almost crying.)

This is not about weight, though. It’s not about body image. It’s about underwear that fits.

You see, I’ve been forcing my growing behind and belly–which can bloat out by a few inches depending on the day–into size medium and large panties. Into my favorite Hankie Pankies, which are thongs-yet-not, which used to be really comfortable, but now roll and dig into my flesh. I have purposely made myself uncomfortable to punish myself for not keeping the promise to never let myself get “that heavy” again.

Silly. Meanspirited toward myself. Cruel even.

Standing in Kohl’s, reading the hip measurements for size large Barely There panties, I gave up. They were too small. So I grabbed several styles of XL panties and moved to the checkout. I was happy that the checker was easily a size 20W. I imagined she was envious of my size XL panties. That she looked at me and saw a thin woman. That she might have taken on just a sip of the shame I felt in upsizing my underwear.

When I got home, I changed out of my orange and pink polka-dotted boyshorts, which I’d pulled out of my butt crack at least 100 times, into a pair of cotton bikinis. I can’t remember the last time I was so comfortable in underwear.

And I began wondering, what else am I doing to punish myself for being “wrong”–for being sick, for not being able to stay “thin”, for being a woman, for [insert mistake/personality flaw/human failing here]. What are the other equivalents of tight underwear in my life?

How else am I hating myself instead of loving myself … and then wondering why I’m “not getting the love I need” elsewhere–from my husband and children, my extended family, my job?