Facebook Shock

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I just logged onto Facebook for the first time in over 10 years. My account was always there, it was just frozen in 2008, the last time I did anything worth announcing to my social circle. At that point, I was thin, still performing, and still maintaining friendships. But I was also having a breakdown, one of many in my life, and seeking treatment for my longstanding mental illness. I was finally diagnosed (Bipolar II or Mood Disorder NOS, depending on who you asked) and medicated, a process that continues to this day.

Now Facebook never really appealed to me. I was not raised on screens and constant selfies and found the whole thing rather shamelessly narcissistic. I mean, the very idea of taking a picture of yourself was crazy to me- I was embarrassed for the people doing it. But we were entering a whole new era of social media, a world I chose not to participate in. As Facebook became more and more ubiquitous, I became more and more mentally ill. I was desperately calling my psychiatrist from random cities where Matt was working. I was raising and lowering dosages as per his instructions, sometimes trying different drugs altogether. I was struggling with my health, with my career, and definitely with my social life. I feared running into people I knew on the streets of New York in case they asked “what I was up to.”

So Facebook was just not something I could handle. It seemed like people only posted the good things, and I didn’t have any good things to post. I also had no interest in reading about everyone else’s good things, so I mostly avoided it at all costs. There was this one time in 2010 when I logged on for some reason- to grab a photo or look up some professional contact, when a little window popped up and someone started messaging me. They could apparently see that I was logged on and spontaneously started talking to me. Horrified by this event, I logged off for good, if nothing else, for fear of someone “seeing” me.

But now, having had the blog for 9 months or so, I decided it was time to announce it to my friends. The response from old friends has been lovely, but for the most part I still find Facebook horrifying. I think there’s something wholly unnatural about knowing the names of the children of someone you sang in high school chorus with 25 years ago. I mean, isn’t this the reason people have always found high school reunions so stressful? That feeling that you have to impress people who no longer have any place in your life? I mean, your actual friends, people you’ve stayed in touch with and whom you have a sincere (not purely voyeuristic) interest in can communicate with you in lots of other ways, from simple emails and phone calls to old-fashioned cards and letters.

When I logged on a few weeks ago, the first thing I saw was a woman I know in a bathing suit. That photo haunted me for days, making me feel bad about my body. The next time I logged on, someone “waved” at me. I panicked, closed the browser window, and slammed the laptop shut. Since then, I’ve had Matt disable whatever feature was alerting people to my presence, and I’ve managed to create a “blog page” where I can post a blog entry every day. And people have been lovely, sending me messages and “liking” the blog. But now there’s this pressure to respond, and that’s really not easy for me. Every “notification” from a different person brings up a wave of memories, embarrassments, regrets. I’m filled with shame for losing touch with the people I care about, and I feel rude not digging deeper into their lives, reading their posts, their statuses. But I’m just not up to that. I’ve replied to a few messages with great difficulty, but then I just scheduled a bunch of blog posts and haven’t logged on in over a week. Honestly, it’s a huge relief to not have that background noise in my life. I already feel guilty enough when my best friend calls me on the phone and I can’t pick up. So call me a Luddite, or just a social-phobe, but I cannot handle The Facebook. Because while I can see all the potential for good that it has, it’s also a huge source of mental clutter. I’ve decided that once-a-month visits are enough for me to stop hiding, but still keep it on my terms. That’s just all I can do right now. And maybe that’s enough for anyone.

Ebay Finds

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Well, I’m just buzzing with dopamine after a little online shopping sesh. I decided to buy a couple pairs of pants for the upcoming trip to Germany. My current pants and jeans are way too big unless I cinch them with a belt, and I don’t see them lasting me until December when we get home. I think my weight loss should start slowing down simply because I weigh less and am therefore in less of a calorie deficit. But at the same time, an inch or two difference in pants sizes is more significant than before.

So I broke down yesterday and went to the nearest thrift store, Savers. They tend to have more of a selection than the Salvation Army, albeit their prices are a total rip-off in comparison. My current men’s 501 Levi’s jeans are a 38 waist, so I looked at the size 36 Levi’s that they had. There weren’t any 501s, so I tried some other styles. One pair were skinny jeans, another pair were grey corduroys that were way too big for some unknown reason, and the one pair I actually considered looked like something you’d wear to an Eminem concert in 2002. They had huge knee-length pockets and wide legs, but it was really the ridiculously low rise that eliminated them for me. I mean, I know the kids are all wearing “mom jeans” from the 90s but these were basically the opposite of being on-trend. I tried a bunch of men’s pants and got pretty grossed out. I considered a pair of J. Crew chinos but they were just too khaki for me, and kind of tapered, too, so they wouldn’t fit over my boots.

As I got home and started stripping my clothes off straight into the laundry, Matt started joking around about exactly how gross thrifted men’s pants must be. As I was in the shower, he started speculating about various activities that must have occurred while wearing said pants. Sweating and sitting had crossed my mind, but I always throw thrifted clothing right into a hot wash anyway, so I didn’t really think that was such a big deal. But then things started to get more graphic: bathroom-related behavior, for instance. And then things really crossed a line when he suggested that when examined under a black light, the pants may reveal certain evidentiary material. I shrieked and suddenly felt very embarrassed for waxing so poetically about thrifted men’s pants. Somehow I was thinking about the pants in the same way I considered the women’s dress section. Sure, someone had worn these clothes before, but I never envisioned anything untoward happening during that time. The train of thought Matt introduced was deeply disturbing and just about ruined my dinner.

Today, however, shaking off the skin-crawling experience of the Savers dressing room, I decided to go on Ebay and give it another go. First I searched men’s 501 Levi’s and sifted through the results in my size, priced lowest to highest. Everything under $15 total had visible dirt stains on them. But I found a clean-looking pair with some wear for $11.60 plus $6.95 shipping. They actually have a dry-cleaning tag on them, which is weird for jeans, but I was sold. New Levi’s cost $50-$60 and are not sustainably or ethically made, so I’m more than happy to pay the $18.55 to get exactly what I was looking for- and not have to dig through the racks to find them.

Next, I was hoping to find some pants comparable to the ones I’ve been wearing lately- these charcoal grey, almost flannelly-type ones from the brand GEORGE. I don’t know who GEORGE is, but I do love these pants, so I searched for the brand in my new waist size and inseam. This narrowed things down quite a bit, and I scrolled to the bottom of the page looking for anything not black or khaki. Lo and behold, there was one pair of charcoal grey pants that looked a lot like the ones I own and love. After inspecting the pictures, I actually became hopeful that they might be the very same pants. I checked my tag for a style number and compared it to the one in the photo. By some act of the Ebay gods, I realized that they are in fact identical pants- simply in a 38 waist instead of a 40. For $6.95 plus $11.20 shipping, I will have the great pleasure of continuing to wear my favorite pants despite my change in size. This was positively a shopping thrill, beyond even that of the success of my epic, multiple-store quest for knock-off Adidas sneakers in my size.

I suppose I could have gone a different route, gone to Kohl’s, and looked for any new pants that fit. But even then, it’s hard to know how new things will fit once they’ve been washed. I tend to hang-dry my pants for this very reason. But when something’s thrifted, I can throw it in the dryer without a second thought, since I’m pretty sure this has been done before (God knows men don’t typically drip-dry their jeans). So this exciting online spree saved me the time and torment of dressing rooms and laundry disasters. I actually know what I’m getting, and I didn’t have to (in some small way) harm the environment or the garment workers to get it.

So now I’m prepared for this next little chapter abroad, and I won’t be squeezing into my still-too-small clothes in storage. I can just be right where I am, in my own time, in my own body.

Smaller Sweaters and Little Boxes

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Well, the weather’s getting cooler and I’ve started wearing my boots again. I’ve brought out my grey men’s pants to wear with them, as well as some thicker crew socks. It feels good. I made a last-ditch attempt to rescue my white pencil skirt by re-washing it and throwing it in the dryer and, by god, it worked. Of course, now it’s not really not hot enough to wear it with bare legs and I’m back to not shaving my legs again anyway.

So the idea of tights came to mind. I’ve had some bad experiences with tights. For example, while working office temp jobs, I would wear them with stretchy pencil skirts and it’d look great in the mirror at home. Then I’d spend the entire day wrestling the skirt back into position as it stuck to the tights and rode up to my waist. But I have some slippery bike-short-type things for swimming which might solve the problem.

My other concern with wearing tights with a white skirt was, what color? So I went on Pinterest and started searching. And I was surprised to find plenty of photos of white skirts worn with black tights. I do own a pair of black tights, along with one other pair in a weird purpley-grey textured weave. I got those at American Apparel and they actually work pretty well as a neutral. Except with white, in which case they make your legs look blue. So black it is. With the slippy-shorts over them I guess? The shorts are black, too, so it seems like the best option I’ve got. I don’t know if this skirt is even worth all this trouble- it just seems so complicated. I mean, don’t even get me started on the shoes and socks issue. So the skirt may just go. I just don’t feel I’m advanced enough, fashion-wise, to figure it all out in a graceful and easy manner.

I tried on a couple of smaller sweaters the other day, hoping to change up the every-single-day-oatmeal-sweater for something more exciting. I put on a pale pink cashmere sweater from Cynthia Rowley that I got on Thredup. The neckline is kind of tight and the shoulders seem a bit shrunken, so I whipped it off and put it back in the drawer. I tried a dark grey zip-up cardigan with a mock neck and these sort of structured shoulders. It fit and everything, but it looked really weird with my baggy jeans and belt. I guess it is pretty fitted through the body, and that got me thinking about this change-over to my smaller clothes. I’ve already explored theoretically whether my clothes in storage will fit my more masculine style. But trying them on is another thing. I may have misjudged how suitable certain things are for my changing aesthetic.

Which got me right back to thinking about The Men’s Pants Epiphany and what these different clothes were supposed to mean. I thought they meant more autonomy, a more authentic expression of myself, a braver, more creative me. But I feel like I’ve dropped the ball in terms of fulfilling those aspirations.

I have a fantasy of really going off the grid artistically, making things that I think are good, and are not necessarily commercially attractive. But I’ve trained myself so well over the years to fit into little boxes: modern dancer, musical theater performer, opera singer, straight theater actress. And all that I’ve found from doing this is that I never fit the mold. I’m too serious for some people, too quirky for others, always too old or too young or too fat. I tried hard to be what people were looking for, but I never really got the hang of it. It all made me nervous, and feeling like a phony, neither of which was great for auditions.

So now I’m trying to just let myself be, and do things that speak to who I really am. The trouble is, I can’t think of what to do. I’ve written some music over the years, and I guess I hope to get back to it. But it’s hard not to look at it as a commercial endeavor. Plus I feel like I’m wasting all these years of experience and training (and money) by not pursuing my old career(s). But I know I can never go back to it after the mental health crisis I’ve been through. I’m too fragile, too broken. It makes me too frustrated, too self-critical, and ultimately, too suicidal.

So what about these other things- the songwriting, the poetry? Those feel like a waste of time because no one will ever hear them or read them. They’d just be trees falling in the woods. The thing it’s hard to keep in mind is that they’d be my trees- not someone else’s songs that I learned to parrot back for old white men to judge. Maybe I wouldn’t feel like a delicate creature thrust out into the open to be scrutinized for her body, her hair, her choice of footwear. Instead I could stay protected, nurtured, private. I could write secrets only to be whispered in the safest of places. I could hide behind a screen like a violinist at an orchestra audition. I could send out anonymous work to the internet. The problem still is, I can’t get started. I don’t know how or where to start. Everything’s still trapped inside, afraid.

ASOS Curve/Plus-Size Full Scroll

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I thought I’d share my picks from my 2,124-item “full scroll” of the ASOS Curve and Plus Size section (not sure what the difference between the two categories is…). I’ve been itching to shop lately, but I don’t need anything and am barely wearing all the clothes I already have (see my last post). I also have no idea what size I am, since the sizing of women’s clothes remains a mystery to me. I don’t know the difference between an XL, an XXL, a 0X, a 1X, and a 2X. It’s also unclear what the difference is between a 14 and a 14W- also, what does the W stand for? Wide? Womanly? If someone would care to explain, please do get in touch. The issue is further complicated by the British website ASOS, where the tags have British sizes on them which are apparently 2 number sizes higher than U.S. sizes. In any case, I do like the site and have bought a few things there over the years- some T-shirts, my wedding kimono, my wedding clutch.

I love the variety of body shapes and sizes I see on there, and even the- shocking- stretch marks that have not been edited out. Major points there. In any case, ASOS is a fast fashion brand, so definitely not a sustainable or ethical choice, but since I’m only window-shopping, I thought I’d allow it. Here’s what I’ve found:

First up are a plethora of T-shirt and sweatshirt dresses and tops. I’d naturally wear them all with pants and boots, but I love the longer length all the same. The cropped sweatshirt (top right) caught my eye as well, especially since it could be layered over a longer tee a la my middle school days in the 90s.

Next is this purple-grey bralette that would look great under these tops or this loose jumpsuit. Maybe the lace cami is a bit feminine for me? But I of course picture the pants and boots and the context seems to make it better. The jumpsuit is not something I would normally consider, but I love how unstructured it is, and the pants make it more suited to me than a dress.

Then there are shirt dresses, of course to be worn with pants underneath. The white babydoll style (bottom left) goes against all my personal fashion rules (it’s both feminine and infantilizing, plus it has a V-neck) and yet I’m drawn to it all the same. The pink pleated thing is weird, but again, the pants would somehow make it OK, I think.

The thing with cropped wide-leg pants is that I’m so short, they never come up cropped on me, so they’re just great wide-leg pants. The straight-leg Farley jeans intrigue me with the super-high waist but not-so-skinny leg. They look like a straight up-and-down shape which is right up my alley. These wide-leg jeans might have possibilities as well.

These things all read as kind of futuristic-minimal to me, and of course I love that. The tops are a no-brainer: high neck and swing-shaped, in bright white, all things I go for. The skirt may be feminine, but it is a midi length at least, so not too revealing, and I adore the ruching and the buttons. A trench coat with an attached fanny-pack (or bum-bag, as the Brits say) is pretty trendy for me, but it has kind of a Matrix-meets-Star Wars appeal.

This last dress is a total wild-card. I honestly doubt I’d feel comfortable wearing something like that, but I do appreciate the aesthetic. In this case, I don’t think adding a pair of pants would work, but if I were a different person, I’d snap it up.

In terms of actual shopping, I don’t think any of these things will make their way into my cart. I’m still waiting out the physical changes of this whole weight-loss process and don’t want to invest in anything brand new just yet. But I do look forward to seeing how things shake out and potentially getting to shop again. Minimally, of course.

The Bare Minimum

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I’ve been wearing the same clothes every day. I mean, different socks, underwear, and T-shirt, but the same Adidas sneakers, men’s Levi’s, black belt, and oatmeal cotton sweater. I usually keep the sweater in my bag to wear at the cafe when it gets cold, and that has worked well for summer with it being cotton and all. The jeans have replaced the every-single-day-of-summer linen pants, and the sneakers are purely out of laziness, i.e. I don’t have to lace them up like I do with my boots. I feel kind of like I’m “saving” my other clothes (for what I don’t know). Or maybe it’s laundry-related. I’ve been strictly rotating through my T-shirt collection and only doing laundry when I run out of underwear or once I’ve worn the last sports bra for the week. I guess I’m saving a little room in the washer by not washing pants? Maybe it keeps them slightly less worn out? Or maybe I just can’t be bothered to wear different pants. I guess I’m just doing the bare minimum to get dressed, much the same way I’m doing the bare minimum at everything else.

I tried to amp up my gym workout a little bit, but paid for it dearly with leg cramps the following night, so today it was back to the usual. I thought about shaving in the shower today, but instantly decided against it and just soaped up and toweled off. I went on Facebook to post a blog and thought about checking messages, but logged off immediately instead.

Maybe part of this attitude is that I’m still recovering from the most recent medication dosage experiment. Having your brain chemistry shifted for 10 days can easily take a toll. But another part of it is that I miss the highs among the lows. Back when I was on Adderall, about 2 years ago now, I was full of energy and there were a lot of highs. I’d get amped up to go thrifting, looking for stuff to sell on Ebay. I’d grab a KIND bar and a Starbucks coffee and not have to eat for the rest of the day. I’d excitedly (and obsessively) log the items into my spreadsheets, pricing them, washing them, coming up with the best search-friendly titles. At night, while watching Netflix with Matt, I’d have to keep my hands busy doing Sudoku or little sewing projects. And in the 2 years since that time, shopping has always been a surefire dopamine rush for me- hitting TJ Maxx with my mom or tooling around Homegoods looking at every single thing. But today Matt suggested we pick up a couple things at Job Lot, our local discount store where I used to love searching endlessly for deals, and I didn’t even get the least bit excited. It was just too overwhelming to think about, and didn’t seem worth the effort. I told him, “I can’t,” which is my code for “I am not well enough to do that.” I feel like I say it a lot. I feel like I’m more passive, less decisive, more dependent on Matt than I’ve ever been. I thought I was supposed to be getting better, but somehow it doesn’t seem that way at all right now.

Matt and I have always had an understanding about my energy: I try to reserve it for the most important things and not waste it on things he could easily do for me. Sometimes we question whether this eats away at my confidence, and I’ll start pitching in a bit more. But within a day or so, our routine resumes and I’m back to doing- you guessed it- the bare minimum. So while it seems like there’s progress in certain areas (going to the cafe, writing, exercising, meditating), there are always missing pieces that I neglect (grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, painting) that inevitably fall on Matt’s shoulders. I rarely drive, take out the trash, or even squeegee the shower when I’m done. And I certainly don’t socialize. I don’t talk to my best friend on the phone. I rarely even visit with my immediate family who live 5 minutes away. So when is all this going to start happening for me? Is this as capable as I’ll ever be? Am I only leaning on Matt because he lets me? Am I just hiding from a world that seems to constantly disappoint me? (Yes to that last one.) But where do I even start? I’m so far from “functioning” and people don’t even realize it. Matt covers for me. He shouldn’t have to, but life isn’t fair, and he does.

In terms of those “more important” tasks that I save my energy for, one of them has been to have a YouTube channel. It’s been 2 years since I first decided I wanted to start a Youtube channel, and this blog is as far as I’ve gotten. There are so many steps involved, so many things I have yet to learn to do. It seems like it’ll never happen. And even then, it’s still not exactly art. It’s still just a guilty pleasure, not the serious work I’m really supposed to be doing. I don’t know if I’ll ever get there. And do I continue on, letting Matt pick up my slack, aiming for the loftier goals and ignoring the rest? Or does it start with taking out the trash? Does that get me closer to the bigger things? I really don’t know. Today it all sounds daunting and hopeless. Today I’m ashamed of my inadequacies and self-obsession. I miss making money from Ebay and scoring us deals on Craigslist. I at least felt like I was helping out. Now I’m just drowning in my own self-pity. And I don’t know how to get out.

Bedroom Makeover Success, Medication Change Failure

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Well, the bedroom has been painted, through no help of my own. (Here’s the before.) This intense 5-coat project coincided with my change in medication dosage which left me in bed all day, too depressed to move. Our bed was actually leaning in the hallway so I was just on a mattress on the floor of the living room. It was right outside the bedroom where Matt was slaving away, and I was consumed with guilt and shame for being unable to do any painting. I kept thinking about all the painting I’d done in the past and screaming at myself for not being able to pick up a brush. I did help disassemble and reassemble the bedroom and living room, but that was the extent of my labor. Matt insisted that he was the one who had made the decision to go ahead with the project, even though I’d said that I wasn’t up to doing it. Once I realized I couldn’t do it, I was ready to write the whole thing off for now and wait for a better mood to make the painting possible. So he never blamed me for lolling about in bed all day while he took the project on by himself. Part of my need to stay in bed all day was attributed to the trouble I’d been having sleeping. I’d wake up early after only 6-7 hours of sleep instead of my usual 11, and by the time I’d exercised and showered, I was utterly exhausted and would crash back into bed. This interrupted sleep was the exact opposite of my expectations for the change in medication dosage. I went down on my atypical antipsychotic, which you would think would cut down on akathisia (restlessness) and interrupted sleep- at least that was the plan. But inexplicably, the reverse was true and the experiment has officially been deemed a failure. My instinct was to press on, committing to the full 2 weeks of the experiment as suggested by my doctor, but ultimately I called it after only 10 days of utter disaster. I’ve had a tendency in the past to push myself too far when something clearly wasn’t working, whether it was persisting with the washout of all my meds last summer (the disaster to end all disasters) or going through a full 6 weeks of TMS (Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation) therapy despite it being ineffective and very painful. So this time, I decided not to push it.

Regardless, the paint job is beautiful and the white reflects a lot more light around the room than that dark blue-green did. It’s caused me to question some of the decor, but overall it’s a welcome change. I did end up burning the sage “smudge” around the room before we brought the furniture back in. I felt completely foolish reciting an “intention” over and over again as I walked around with the smoking bundle, but Matt was very supportive and didn’t make fun of me for it. Another change we made was to switch sides of the bed. I wanted to make everything as different and disorienting as possible, in order to really get that fresh-start feeling.

I’m sorry to say that none of this cured my mood disorder. I mean, it’s a ridiculous thing to expect from a little bedroom makeover, but I admit I had my hopes. And I was disappointed that the freshly painted walls didn’t boost my mood in the least. I was still feeling awful from the dosage change, and I didn’t even want to go in there for fear of “contaminating” the room with my bad mood. When I told Matt what was going through my mind, he pointed out that that was completely absurd and that I would surely have bad moods in the bedroom in the future. He said that painting it was never meant to cure my mood disorder. I guess I just got caught up in the clean newness of it all and entertained this fantasy of a cure. I mean, we really cleaned that room- we mopped the floor and dusted and vacuumed every item we put back in there. We washed the sheets and bedspread and even the mattress cover. We removed and replaced the immensely heavy radiator (still painted blue-green). We took down the sconces so that Matt could paint every square inch and replaced them with a new, simpler style. Everything is fresh and clean and new. I put my medication back up to my usual dose last night, and today I was actually able to get out of the house after my workout on the treadmill. So peace is restored, at least for now.

I Keep Getting Worse at Meditation

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I think I’m finally ready to talk about meditation. I embarked on a 30-day experiment to see if a) I could even do it and b) if it would have any positive effect on my mood. In terms of being able to do it at all, it’s been a huge success. The last time I was trying to meditate, I was having akathisia from my meds- this horrible, crawling-the-walls feeling of agitation. You might think that meditating would help with these kind of symptoms, but I found the opposite to be true. The more I practiced “being with” or “observing” my awful thoughts and feelings, the more exaggerated they became. I was also trying to use the Headspace app, which I don’t think is the best approach to meditation for me. I found it really distracting when that guy’s voice kept coming in and adding to the thoughts I was already trying to quiet.

Which brings me to the whole idea of technique. The way I understand it, the instructions I’ve received from various teachers, books, and conversations are to:

1. Focus on your breath

2. Observe the thoughts that naturally come into your mind with detachment

3. When you find yourself caught up in thought, return to focusing on the breath

There are a few things I’ve found helpful from my own experience in years past that I’ve been drawing on during this recent experiment as well.

First is to understand that having thoughts is natural- that’s just what the mind does, so have compassion for yourself when you have them- don’t beat yourself up.

Another thing I like to do when I sit down to start is to picture the thoughts as little clouds passing by. I label each one as “thinking” and watch it slowly drift by. This helps to slow my thoughts down. When I first sit down, my mind is usually racing and I find it difficult to get focused at all. Picturing these little clouds just gets the pace slow enough that I can detach from the thoughts and remember to return to the breath. As each cloud goes by, I try to summarize the topic or image of each thought, sort of re-thinking the thought. I think this is key to slowing things down for me.

Another important concept for me is posture. I can’t meditate lying down- I need to sit on a low cushion or stool, cross-legged but with my back perfectly straight. If I imagine my neck getting longer, it tucks my chin in a little bit and I feel this click where I feel “locked and loaded”- like my back is totally straight but totally relaxed at the same time. Posture can be a good thing to think about when you’re trying to slow down the pace of your thoughts, too.

I don’t know if any of these ideas would be approved by a Zen master, but they’re what I’ve been working with. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a consistent daily practice, so I assumed I’d start to get good at this. But lately it seems like the more I do it, the more thoughts I have. Is it possible that I’m getting worse at meditating? I guess, ultimately, it doesn’t matter- the whole idea is to not judge yourself for having the thoughts in the first place. So I guess it’s not getting worse, it’s just watching more thoughts. No biggie.

I had my psychiatrist’s appointment the other day and I reported back to my doctor on my little meditation experiment. I told him that I didn’t detect any improvement in my mood immediately after meditating or overall. His response was that it wasn’t that kind of thing. The idea is to do it for years, and eventually your brain develops a less judgmental, more detached relationship to your thoughts. He confirmed that my sense that I was “getting worse” at it was normal. He said that in his experience, sometimes you feel like you got “in the zone” of quiet breathing, and sometimes you finish meditating and say, ”What the hell was that?” That pretty much hits the nail on the head for me, so I guess I’m doing it right. I’ll let you know in a couple years if my mood improves.

I Want to Paint the Bedroom.

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I really want to paint our bedroom. Right now it’s a dark greenish-blue, with almost the same color trim in gloss. I was reading a lot of Elle Decor and Kelly Wearstler books when I chose the color, so I really went for it. I had this image of a Moroccan-inspired English library with crown moldings and oil paintings on the walls. I pored over books and magazines looking for inspiration, snapping photos and tearing out pages that really spoke to me.

This was 5 or 6 years ago, when we were finishing our complete renovation of our apartment in our new 3-family house. I sought out just the right sconces for bedside lamps on Craigslist and Matt spray-painted them a lovely muted gold. I found an amazing midcentury swivel-chair upholstered in cream with a tone-on-tone woodgrain pattern. I snagged it for $50 at a junk shop nearby, and it fit perfectly in the corner. I experimented with different textures and colors of bedding, finally settling on whites and creams. There were several incarnations of blinds: plain white roller blinds, homemade fabric roller blinds that never ended up looking the way I wanted them to, and then finally the floor-to-ceiling lined curtains in a heavy pale yellow fabric with a dragonfly pattern that Matt and I made. They’re enormous (we have 9 foot ceilings), extend from wall to wall, and slightly puddle at the floor. It’s hard to believe we pulled it off with a $60 Walmart sewing machine. We tried putting up some framed prints of vintage travel posters, but I never really loved them, so last year I took them down and adopted a slightly more minimalist aesthetic. We have a small lamp on a low grey wood crate that creates a lovely aura on the large blank wall behind it. We started out with just a boxspring and mattress on a metal frame, but finally bought a bed with an upholstered headboard this year.

Around the same time we bought the bed, I decided that we needed to paint the ceiling. It was a slightly paler blue-green than the walls and I thought a soft grey would open up the space a bit. I was in no state of mental health to embark on such a project, but Matt’s quite the painting pro, so he did most of the painting before we brought in my mom’s expert hand to cut in the exposed edge. I wanted the change because I had spent a lot of hours staring at that ceiling while in the worst of my bipolar II depression last summer. Unmedicated and experiencing fits of violence, I spent hours and days on end curled in a ball on my side of the bed, staring at the curtains, the wall, the ceiling. I’d collapse on the floor beside the bed wailing before climbing back into that spot on the mattress where I went through the worst time of my life. That spot is still my home base- the place I run to whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed or sad or just don’t know what else to do. Painting the ceiling was fine- a great improvement- but I still feel like there’s some serious bad energy in that spot that’s not helping me with my recovery. I bought a sage smudge stick, having heard that burning it could help clear the space. I have yet to burn it for fear of setting the curtains on fire, but I’ll get around to it soon.

Last summer, when I’d lie in that spot, I always kept the blinds and the curtains drawn. I couldn’t bear the light, or the possibility of being seen by passersby. But now I’m getting used to letting the light in, thanks to installing some frosted window film. The house that belongs to my horrible Trump-supporting neighbors is in full view through those windows, so I decided this was the best way to get some light in without having to look at that house. It’s actually working out great. But I’m still not satisfied. What once felt like a dark, calming, womb-like space for sleep now feels like a constant reminder of my illness. That lovely chair is where Matt or my mom would keep watch over me, making sure I didn’t harm myself, helpless to do anything for me but sit there, urging me to agree to go to the hospital.

The dark walls and doors now feel like a tomb around me. I think I need more than a little burning of sage. So I’ve got my sights set on completely repainting the room. I’m thinking more soft grey, or even just white. I need a fresh start, and what’s fresher than white? The process will be an absolute ordeal- even our radiator is painted the same peacock blue color as our trim. (We’ll leave that as it is, since we’ve had disastrous results painting radiators ourselves and eventually hired the pros to do it.) But everything else will be painted. Those sconces are going to have to be switched out for something less ornate. The chair will stay- Matt just fixed it for the third time and he still sits there all the time. And the curtains will definitely stay. I think that with everything else changing, they won’t hold negative connotations for me.

I’ve thought about rotating the mattress, but worry about the negative energy that will then be at Matt’s feet. This doesn’t concern him at all. He says that if anything bad happens to him, it won’t be from my “negative energy.” I know it’s silly to think of it that way, but I still want to make the changes. I’ve always been very sensitive to my environment and feel that if I can change my literal perspective, that could affect my perspective on life as well. I’m eager to get this project going, but so far the overwhelming nature of it is preventing me from getting started. Matt’s volunteered to do the actual painting, but I want so badly to do it myself. I did plenty of painting when we were renovating our place as well as our third floor rental apartment, so I’m fully capable. I just feel psychologically paralyzed. I mean, it’s way harder than brushing my teeth or going to the gym, both of which I struggle with a lot right now. I keep thinking about Gwyneth Paltrow in that movie Sliding Doors where she has a real “you go girl” moment and paints her office blue. If only I could channel Gwyneth. Click here to see the results.

Getting Real About Weight Loss

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Well, I went to the psychiatrist and found out I lost 4.8 pounds, bringing me down to 176.8 pounds, and my total weight lost to 47.2 pounds. I know it’s a perfectly good amount for 5 weeks- almost exactly a pound a week after all- but it doesn’t feel very significant. It’s not a nice, round number, and it doesn’t sound so far off from my last weigh-in at 181.6. But I’m right on track. And I think my doctor’s actually impressed at how consistently I’ve been losing weight- he keeps saying how none of his other patients are this successful with it. So I know I should feel good. But the clock is ticking on this next Germany trip, and I still won’t fit into my smaller clothes by the time we leave. I have started wearing my newly thrifted men’s jeans with my belt on the 6th notch, which is another landmark: I started the weight-loss process on the 2nd notch. But the jeans are staying up just fine for now. How they will fit in 7 weeks when we leave, I’m not so sure.

All this progress with losing weight has got me thinking. In the past I’ve always seen any kind of diet or restricted eating as just setting oneself up to binge. The rather dismal statistics on the long-term success of dieters suggest that we’re almost entirely likely to gain back all the weight- plus more- after 5 years or more. My own personal experience with dieting (starting at age 9) supports this idea of diets setting you up to binge. In the past, it was always “one false move and it’s over.” If I strayed at all from my latest diet, I would call it quits and start eating everything in sight, not stopping until I’d binged my way back up to beyond my starting weight. I struggled with binge eating throughout my childhood and couldn’t imagine that there was anything to do but diet.

But then I discovered those books I’m always going on about: Overcoming Overeating and When Women Stop Hating Their Bodies by Jane R. Hirschmann and Carol H. Munter. Their feminist philosophy and practical instructions rocked my world and gave me hope for an ideal approach to food. And with the help I got from those books, I achieved that ideal while I was in college. I could eat whatever I wanted and stay thin. The suggested steps included the (somewhat terrifying) process of legalizing foods- allowing yourself to eat any and all of the foods you craved. Then there was the constant support of carrying around a “food bag” so you always had your favorite foods with you. And finally there was the acceptance of your body at any size, as well as the dismantling of negative thoughts about your body. This process led to an initial weight gain for me as I recovered from dieting, and then after a few months, I started to eat like a normal person. I ate when I was hungry, stopped when I was full, and ate whatever sounded good to me.

As I said, all this worked great for me in my twenties, before the full extent of my mental illness came into view. As I got sicker and sicker, I would vacillate between dieting and legalizing (usually bingeing after my latest diet), getting extremely frustrated and physically heavier. My weight gradually went up over the last decade or so until it finally peaked this year at 224 pounds. I’ve finally acceded to the idea that the feminist approach might not work for me being as sick as I am. And that due to my mental illness, it might never again work for me. So I’ve been adhering to a strict calorie limit since last year as well as doing some minimal exercise, and I’ve been getting the steady results I’d hoped for for so long.

The longer this method keeps working, the more my beliefs have shifted. I used to dismiss anyone who had lost weight by dieting as a fool who was just setting themselves up to binge, never imagining that it could last. But my own recent experience has me questioning whether it might actually be possible- whether you can restrict your eating for a long time (like forever) and successfully keep your weight where you want it. Entertaining the possibility of true weight loss success (other than through the feminist methods I described) is something I haven’t even considered since childhood. But what I’ve gleaned so far from my own experience is that small steps combined with religious consistency are more sustainable than extreme measures. My caloric limit is reasonable, I think, at 2,000 calories a day. I aim to eat 1,800, but if I need to go over that for any reason (like hunger), I’m comfortable with 2,000 and still consider myself within my plan. This little “release valve” is key for me. It makes it way less likely that I’ll end up at the end of the day with 140 calories allotted for dinner, trying to subsist on a can of vegetable soup. It also helped me get through the time change when traveling home from Germany when I was faced with a 30-hour day.

I recently discovered on my calendar that it’s almost exactly one year since I started limiting my eating, and that there was only one day when my caloric plans went out the window. That day I got into a screaming match with my Trump-supporting neighbors and flew into such a rage that I didn’t know what to do except eat. I ate 2 large bags of candied nuts (which were the only sweets in the house) and had half a frozen pizza for dinner. Now I’ve done a lot more damage than that in my bingeing days, but this was way out of line in terms of calories, coming in at around 4-5,000 for the day. But the astonishing part of this story is that the next day I just went back to the plan. With my “one extra bite and all bets are off” history with dieting, this was nothing short of a miracle. All I can attribute it to was, well, partly feeling justified- it’s not often that I’m arguing with white supremacists in my driveway- but also that returning to my moderate 2,000 calorie plan wasn’t too extreme. It actually took less effort to return to my usual meals than it would have taken to start bingeing.

There’s an analogy my husband offered: I’m climbing a very slight slope. If it were too steep, I might come crashing down into uncontrolled bingeing with any slight misstep. But with such a slight slope, I can handle the odd mishap and stay pretty much where I am. Moderation is the key to my eating now, and my mental health depends on it. And so this is an aspect of my life where, at least for now, I have to abandon my ideals. Is calorie counting my ideal way of eating? Of course not. Is it working for me at this stage of my mental illness? Yes. And so it is the most realistic approach for me right now. I would love to live according to my ideals in every way. But I do not live in a vacuum. I have a lot to negotiate in the real world. So I have to compromise and just do what works.

The Artist's Way and Leaving It All Behind

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I’ve been trying out the exercises in The Artist’s Way, a book about unblocking your creativity. I consider myself a blocked artist, not so much in terms of writing the blog, but in terms of my utter lack of outside creative pursuits. The exercises in the book consist of writing “morning pages” every day: 3 pages of longhand, stream-of-consciousness writing. This part I abhor for its tediousness, especially when I feel I could be using that time and energy for a blog entry. The other major exercise in the book is going on “artist dates,” where you spend two hours “filling the well” of creative input. The example the author gives of an artist date is to go to a “Five and Dime” with $5 and buy stickers and plastic dinosaurs. I don’t know where I’d get a time machine to do such a thing, but it’s not happening. My only ideas for the artist date have been thrifting or going to a museum or a movie. You’re supposed to go alone because blocked artists apparently don’t get enough time to themselves. I can’t relate. But last week I went to the thrift store for 2 hours and found my men’s 501 Levi’s. So it was productive in some way, but I don’t think I did what I was supposed to do. I was probably supposed to look around, exploring colors and textures and getting ideas for artwork. I didn’t.

There are also these written exercises for each week (I just finished Week 2) and one of them was to write down 20 things you like to do, but maybe never get a chance to do. I couldn’t think of many things I even like, never mind latent projects I want to get back to. It just made me realize how small my world really is. All this reading and writing made me think I should actually do something artistic, so I pulled out my old poetry journal from last summer when I was really, really sick. Sometimes I wrote in it when I was in a total rage or in the deepest of despair, but I remember thinking that some of it was pretty good, artistically speaking. So the other day, sitting at the cafe, I read through the entire notebook. There were a few bits and pieces that stood out to me, so I marked them, but overall it just destroyed me. I don’t think I could ever express just how horrible that time was. I was unmedicated, full of rage, throwing things, screaming at people, and fixated on harming myself. Reading the rationalizations around suicide, the visceral descriptions of my suicidal fantasies, the rage at past abuses committed against me. Some of it reads as kind of adolescent over-dramatization, but a lot of it was spot-on for what I was feeling at that time. I finished reading, starting to cry, and went out to the car. I shut the door and started sobbing, eventually collecting myself enough to drive home.

Later that night I had a full-on panic attack remembering what that time was like. I guess since I’ve been getting better, I’ve just kind of blocked that stuff out. And I think that’s healthy. I think that’s the only way forward. Because reading that just wrecked me. I myself had forgotten what that time really felt like, and plunging into that journal was a mistake. Maybe it put things in perspective a bit in terms of seeing how far I’ve come. But it wasn’t worth the agony of reliving those days. There were some studies I heard about that looked at trauma and how to best deal with it. The results contradicted the commonly held notion that we need to relive and “process” our traumatic experiences. Come to find out, that’s not true at all. The brain blocks out trauma for a very good reason: our survival and ability to go on. Digging that stuff up, our most common therapy technique, is actually a bad idea. Depending on how bad the trauma, it could be a really bad idea. So as much as the artist in me wanted to mine that notebook for material, I, as a person, couldn’t handle it. I sobbed that night, I hyperventilated, I took 2 Klonopin and inhaled some lavender essential oil. Matt helped talk me down and focus on putting it out of my mind. And I’ve done my best since then to just not go there. To trust that moving forward is the only way to go.

In the months leading up to that horrible time of writing in that notebook, I was still trying to practice singing every day. But every time I practiced, I was racked with suicidal thoughts. Thoughts of how terrible my singing was, how hopeless my career was, how angry at the industry I was, and ultimately how I should just end it all. I couldn’t imagine any kind of life without the hope of singing to keep me going. But I was forced to leave it behind. As my illness continued to get worse and worse, it was impossible for me to hang onto those notions of a career in music. Whenever I think about singing now, I feel deeply disappointed and depressed. I feel like an utter failure. So the solution for me is to move on. To put all that behind me and just keep going. I think it’s the only way for me to live. And so, I’m seeking a new creative outlet. Whether or not this The Artist’s Way book will be of any help we have yet to see. But I’ll just keep going.

MInimalism and Clutter Conflict

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If you’re on any kind of minimalist journey, or even have one in mind, you’re going to be getting rid of stuff. We hear a lot about The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up and the peace and serenity that an uncluttered home can bring. At the same time, we hear a lot about The True Cost of the impact our discarded clothing has on the environment. We’re faced with statistics on the small percentage of donated items that even make it into the thrift store (or to charitable causes), despite our good intentions. And thus, many of us might start out with great enthusiasm for decluttering, only to be faced with the guilt that our discarded items might end up in the trash. This conflict can bring things to an impasse, keeping us surrounded with clutter we don’t know how to get rid of responsibly. And my response to this conflict is that sometimes you just have to get the clutter off the premises and throw it away. No, it’s not ideal. No, it’s not the most environmentally sound habit to get into. But finding the will to let go of the clutter in the first place can be difficult enough- procrastinating on your discard pile because you’re “going to sell that on Ebay” ends up being a dead end for many people.

Now I’ve mentioned selling clothing items on Ebay myself, but the reasonable window of time for me to list the items has passed, so I’m sending the lot to Thredup instead. For clothes, this can be a great alternative, almost as easy as donating. But what about everything else? My view is, if you haven’t listed in on Craigslist or Ebay within a week, and it hasn’t sold within another week, you’re probably better off just putting it on the curb (or for free on Craigslist). There’s always a slight chance someone would pick up a decent piece of furniture, but most things will end up with the rest of your trash: in a landfill. I think if we really want to live free of clutter, we have to accept this unfortunate reality- and accept our mistakes in accumulating the stuff in the first place. Hopefully we can learn something about consumption along our minimalism journey, but if you imagine for a minute the amount of waste created by your local coffee shop or construction site in just one day, you will realize that your pile of junk is but a drop in the bucket. And delaying getting rid of your discard pile can be dangerous territory for anyone who is clutter-inclined. I myself am a long-time minimalist and rarely have much clutter to deal with. I’m notorious for getting rid of unnecessary things. I have extensive experience with both Craigslist and Ebay and have the resources to use them. But even I can accumulate clutter when left unchecked. If you’ve seen my most recent discard pile, you’ll see just how insidious clutter can be. I’ve ended up with about 40 pieces of excess or “outgrown” clothing after only 8 months of weight loss. If I don’t deal with it at this point, it could start to become a problem (clutter tends to grow: the more you have, the more accumulates).

So let’s say you’ve let go of your clutter, you’ve embraced a more minimalist lifestyle, and you’ve seriously considered your consumption habits. Something funny can start to happen: you find yourself replacing those very items you were so keen to get rid of. This can certainly happen with clothes- YouTube is full of “closet declutter” videos where the idea is simply to make room for this season’s new clothes. But it can also happen with other items- usually when you buy items with a more minimalist aesthetic: that all-white coffee table or that sleek new water bottle that had a perfectly good counterpart and really didn’t need replacing. So there is a point where discarding items can just be wasteful. But this is really a problem for more “advanced” minimalists- people who are no longer buried in clutter. Most people looking to declutter have a tendency to hang onto too much. So be realistic when you ask, “What if I need it someday?” If it’s unlikely you’ll need it, if you don’t know if you’ll need it, or if it’s easy to replace, then by all means let it go.

Marie Kondo suggests that you don’t use clear garbage bags when decluttering so you’re not tempted to claw things back as the bag sits in your hallway awaiting a trip to the charity shop. She also recommends not telling your family members when you’re decluttering (your own stuff, of course) so they’re not tempted to claw things back for themselves. In Karen Kingston’s book Clear Your Clutter With Feng Shui, she recalls an incident where a client was so afraid of discarding something she might need, she slept with several full garbage bags in her bedroom so she could rescue things in the middle of the night if necessary. Suffice it to say, she didn’t need to. She let it all go.

Plus Size Effortless Style

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I’ve been thinking about the term “effortless style” and wondering how I might achieve this effect (or affect) with my own wardrobe. The basic idea is to look amazing, but totally “effortless,” like you didn’t try too hard- or at all- to achieve your look. We’ve all seen the photos of off-duty models and celebrities on Pinterest. There are those outfits that draw from more classic elements: blazers, button-downs, loafers, classic handbags, and simple jewelry.

My husband worked with a woman who was tall, Nordic, and around 19 years old who always looked like a walking J. Crew ad- a perfect example of the “classic” effortless look. Upon anyone commenting on how great she looked, she’d say something like,”Oh, yeah. I thrifted this sweater,” neglecting to mention how her impeccably disheveled style was achieved. It seemed completely, well, effortless for her. Whether or not this is actually true, I’ll never know, but she certainly pulled it off.

Then there are the slightly edgier looks- the “I rolled out of bed like this” looks.

I once had a roommate in NY who had an edgy, effortless look; Natalia was her name. She had gorgeous, long, shiny hair and perfectly clear skin. She appeared to own about 3 pairs of tights, some black shorts, a pair of ballet flats, and maybe a scarf- and that was it. But somehow she always looked utterly stylish. She literally picked clothes out off the floor, threw them on, ate a Snickers for breakfast, and was off to work at a so-cool-I-couldn’t-even-walk-in-there designer retail shop. Her look was definitely effortless, yet somehow finely tuned to the edge of where fashion was heading, possibly creating trends herself from our modest Williamsburg (Brooklyn) apartment.

So when I started thinking about this whole “effortless” concept in relation to my own wardrobe, I wasn’t terribly hopeful. First of all, I’m plus-size. There are far fewer “effortless fashion” icons in the plus size world. My searches on Pinterest tended to turn up photos kind of like this- wholesome, matchy-matchy, blown out hair and heavy makeup:

The other type of photo that came up often was also trying too hard: the ultra-sexy, high heels and body-con look:

And I was reminded of a video (go to 3:00 in) where I saw a YouTuber talking about her discomfort on camera when she wasn’t made up- wearing a full face of heavy makeup with meticulously styled long hair, dressed in trendy clothes. She noted how she felt she had to compensate for being fat by having perfect hair, makeup, and clothes all the time. And she suggests that this could be an issue for other plus size women- the fear that if we don’t get mani-pedis and curl our hair, we’ll be seen as sloppy, lazy, or that we “don’t take care of ourselves.” Being immaculately made up and carrying an expensive handbag can be, for certain women, a sort of apology to society for being fat. And I obviously can’t get on board with that. I guess I never have, no matter my size. If anything, I have the opposite problem: there’s a bit of, “Well I’m fat anyway, so why even try?” I never do my hair or makeup, I rarely wear jewelry, and I keep forgetting to tuck my shirt in in the front (a “styling trick” I recently picked up). So I guess I’m looking for some middle ground with this whole “effortless style” idea. I’d like to look more put together, less like I’ve spent the last two years in pajamas, but I want to be sure I’m not apologizing for anything about my body. As far as clothes go, I think my minimalist/menswear tastes lend themselves to effortlessness. I think my baggy pants and simple T-shirts are certainly not trying too hard, but can look a little sloppy because I’m not styling myself. And I’m no fool- those women who pull off effortless style are probably still styling their hair- blowing it out straight, then creating beachy waves with a flat iron. This is something I could explore. And there’s always some minimal makeup involved: mascara, lip gloss, concealer. And sunglasses for sure. A belt seems to go a long way- and some delicate jewelry (gold is definitely on trend). Oh, and not having a job helps a lot. I don’t have any kind of uniform or office dress code to adhere to (this look is strictly for those in creative fields: bloggers, actresses, magazine editors). Here are some (plus-size) inspiration photos that are just what I had in mind, some classic:

And some edgier:

New Jeans, Same Old Story

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Here are some pictures of me in the skinny jeans I recently pulled from storage. They were taken the last time I was around this weight. I was trying to create a catalog of outfits I could refer to when getting dressed. My first thoughts upon seeing these photos are highly critical: My arms look really awkward, like they’re too fat to hang down straight. I have a double chin. All the shoes and tops look cheap (and are things I’ve gotten rid of). I look like I’ve been stuffed into my jeans and so the top half of me is all puffed up. These pictures are humiliating because at the time, I thought I looked good. What was I thinking?

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I’ve officially decided to ditch the skinny jeans. They obviously trigger really negative self-talk for me. So I got some new jeans instead. I went thrifting and came out with a pair of men’s 501 Levi’s in a size 38. They’re definitely too big, but the size 36 Levi’s were way too tight. I rolled them up at the ankles, put on my black leather belt, and felt like myself.

I feel like I’m going through the whole process of discovering my style all over again. For some reason, my brain is a little slower than my weight loss, so it takes a bit of time to catch up. It’s as though by the time I figure out my style again at a new size, my clothes are too big and the process starts all over again. When will I learn? I felt really good looking at my closet yesterday and seeing the new jeans with the belt still in the loops hung next to my grey men’s pants and my baggy linen trousers. I felt like it was the perfect selection of bottoms for me at this weight. I went through that little dalliance with the white skirt and the skinny jeans, and then my sanity was restored and I got some new jeans. But wearing the new jeans yesterday (at the hole in my belt where I last wore it) was problematic. As I was heading into the house at the end of the day, I could feel them sliding further and further down until I had to catch them with one hand. My next attempt to wear them will involve cinching the belt a hole tighter and see how they look. But there’s only so much cinching you can do before they cross over into being too big. So I would give them 2-3 weeks, tops.

I feel like some people will read this and think, ”What are you complaining about? You’re losing weight!” For instance, Matt knows how desperately I’ve been wanting to lose weight. So when this issue arose, he said, “Isn’t it better that they’re too big rather than too small?” “No,” I spat back. Despite my prayers being answered and my weight continuing down the scale, I’m finding this whole process of dressing myself during weight loss extremely stressful. Deciding when things are too big, shopping for clothes for a new body size and shape every few weeks, trying to be economical about said shopping, and trying to look the way I want to look- it’s a lot to deal with. And that’s part of why I keep sifting through the discard pile: sometimes a certain look that didn’t work at a higher weight will mysteriously work at a lower weight, especially when you’ve changed other elements of your wardrobe.

For example, my size 3X, navy blue, J. Crew T-shirts have been my absolute favorites for the last 40 pounds, but I had one of them on the day I pulled the size 12 skinny jeans from storage. The T-shirt looked absolutely ridiculous in proportion to the tight-fitting jeans, so I’ve had my eye on discarding those T-shirts. But then I put one on with the new men’s jeans, and voila! It was perfectly oversized. So the T-shirts are no longer on the chopping block, but the skinny jeans are.

Now the white skirt might also be on its way out due to its utter lack of quality. I washed the skirt for the first time (which just goes to show how little I’ve worn it) on a cold, gentle cycle and hung it dry. It came out very wrinkled, so I had at it with the steamer. The skirt has elastic in its polyester blend, so I didn’t want to risk the heat of the iron possibly melting it. Apparently the steamer is just as hot as the iron and so it put some strange puckering in the fabric where the elastic melted. I’ve thought about trying to salvage it with a tumble-dry or a cool iron, but I’ve also thought about tossing it. The whole not-being-able-to-wash-it problem seems like a good excuse to get rid of something I’ve been on the fence about anyway. I love the aesthetic of a pencil skirt with an oversized top on me, but perhaps I might invest in something of higher quality that I didn’t score for 10 bucks at Boscov’s- once my weight has settled, that is. Strangely, I find the skirt in concordance with my style even though it’s more traditionally feminine than the skinny jeans. Weird. After all, there are skinny jeans for men, too. You’d think they might be okay for me, but the decision has been made. Again. Any item of clothing that triggers the onslaught of negative thoughts about my body the way the skinny jeans do needs to be eradicated from my life. And I feel so relieved. I don’t have to have that conflict with myself in the closet every day, toying with the idea of wearing them. I have new jeans now.

I'm Concerned About Skinny Jeans

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I’m concerned about skinny jeans. More specifically, I’m concerned about my excitement over wearing them. I didn’t have this feeling at a higher weight. At my highest weight (224 pounds), I wore skinny jeans and felt unattractive and inconsequential. They were the first things to go when I had my Men’s Pants Epiphany. I saw them as a plus-size adaptation of feminine, objectifying, straight-size skinny jeans. I hated the way they clung to the leg, tapering down to a tightly fitted ankle, making me look like a tomato on a stick. And yet, despite this passionate rejection of the style, I’m suddenly harboring a secret desire to don the skinny jeans I recently pulled out of storage. They’re a size 12, and they just about fit since they have some stretch. And every day, ever since I hung them in my closet, I get a little giddy at the thought of wearing them. I’ve resisted so far, sticking to my baggy wide-leg linen pants. Because I know something is not quite right about it. I sense that my motives are questionable. Firstly, because I’m being blatantly inconsistent. Why did I shun the style 40 pounds ago? 20 pounds ago? What makes them suddenly attractive? Is it simply the thrill of fitting into a smaller size? I don’t think it’s quite that simple. I don’t think I’d be quite this excited to fit into my elastic-waist shorts from storage. I’m certainly not as excited to fit into my white pencil skirt that also stretches to fit. So what’s different about the jeans? Is it the fact that they have a button and zip-fly closure? Is it the more defined waist size that makes for more thrilling a fit? That makes some sense, but I still think there’s more to it. I think I’m falling into an old trap- one I’ve fallen into before.

I think I’m tempted to show my body off more now because I’m getting thinner. Regardless of the recent revelation of my affinity for menswear, for boots and belts and loose-fitting men’s dress pants, I’m falling prey to the classic temptation of wearing more revealing clothes when I lose weight. Often when we imagine ourselves thinner than we are, we see ourselves victorious, wearing a bikini or body con dress, regardless of our personal sense of style. As a child of the 80s, I still see those Dexatrim ads in my mind- the lady in the blue bathing suit by the pool, smiling because she is thin. I see the Before and Afters from Woman’s Day magazine covers- the After always showing a woman in a tight-fitting dress or bathing suit. And it’s hard to shake those associations I have with weight loss. I’m still getting sucked in, despite years of feminist thinking, of trying to escape the male gaze, of trying to accept my body at any size. I’m still holding a candle for that skinny version of me in my imagination that feels comfortable in spandex in public. And every time I’m thin, I try to make that image a reality. I get excited as the numbers on the clothes start to fall- 8, 6, 4, 2- and start browsing the sale rack of bikinis. Who am I? In what universe is this the person I want to be? And yet.

And yet, here I am again with the skinny jeans. They’re a gateway I tell you. You start with the skinny jeans, you move on to a short skirt, and the next thing you know, you’re in a bathing suit. But I never feel comfortable in those clothes. I remember being very thin while I was in a play, and the costume designer having to revamp all my outfits so that I would stop hunching over and standing weird in the short, tight skirts and dresses. We settled on a maxi dress and a matching pants set so I could focus on getting into character instead of hiding my body. So I know I’m not comfortable in tight clothes, in “sexy” clothes, in revealing clothes. No matter how thin I am, it’s just not me. So as much as I want to squeeze into those jeans and fish for compliments, I think I’m just going to pass and let them go. I have to protect myself from this slippery slope and stay true to my comfort zone. Partly for my own sense of self, but also to avoid gaining all the weight back. Because my subconscious feels so strongly about this issue that it will go so far as to make me regain some weight just so I stop making such bizarre fashion choices. And I don’t want to have to start bingeing again just to avoid the bathing suit aisle of TJ Maxx. I need to admit to myself that the blue swimsuit on the Dexatrim ad is not my destiny. I need to just look for another pair of men’s pants at the thrift store and stick with what I know feels right.

The Sizeable Discard Pile

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Along my capsule wardrobe/weight loss “journey,” I’ve decided to part ways with a number of items. Most things simply got too big (17 of them to be exact). Some things got worn out (6 items plus socks and underwear). And then there were a bunch of things that just weren’t working for me (16 items). I feel guilty that I’m getting rid of so many clothes. I still have them all in a pile, occasionally pulling something out to see if I’ve changed my mind about it. But most of the things that I’m discarding for aesthetic reasons are too big now anyway. So it is what it is: I’m getting rid of 39 clothing items, 9 pairs of underwear, and a pile of socks. I’m left with 22 items in my capsule wardrobe. This means I’ve cycled through around 61 items of clothing in the past 8 months. This might seem excessive for a minimalist, but I’ve lost 40 pounds and changed up my style a bit, so allowances must be made. 22 items it is now, though I am still questioning my too-big J. Crew T-shirts, white skirt and blue skinny jeans. I just don’t know if I feel comfortable in those more feminine pieces. But if I get to be too much of a perfectionist about it, I’ll be left with nothing to wear.

Back to the sizable pile. My plan was to sell what I could on Ebay and donate the rest, hoping against hope that the donations don’t go directly to the landfill. But looking at the profit margins for selling the stuff on Ebay is pretty grim- with shipping costs constantly increasing, it’s hard to profit at all on lower-end clothing items. This isn’t necessarily a reason not to do it- my main goal is to give the stuff new homes and not have it end up as garbage. But knowing how much work is involved in making good Ebay listings, I don’t feel up to the task and am thinking I’ll give Thredup a try instead. The payouts would probably be close to nothing (less than a dollar in many cases), but at least I don’t have to take all those photos and measurements, then store and ship the stuff when it sells. And I think the stuff that’s not sellable- the stuff I’d be forced to donate- at least has a shot at being recycled. I don’t know for sure what Thredup does with the clothes that don’t sell, but it’s got to be better than going in the trash compactor at Savers.

I just ordered 3 bags from Thredup for “selling” as opposed to straight-up donating. I decided against having the rejects sent back to me for $10.99 per bag. They claim they will “responsibly recycle unaccepted items.” I may not get as much money for my Sorel boots or my Margot handbag, but at least I don’t have to charge $15 for shipping on Ebay. That’s always a deterrent to Ebay shoppers when buying heavy items, especially shoes, which are bulky too. But Thredup has a standard shipping fee of $5.99 which is waived altogether if you buy $79 worth of stuff, so there’s no deterrent to buying heavy items. As far as selling, some items are paid out to you upon receipt, but most are consigned, so you only get paid if and when they sell. In the past, I would sell thrifted high-end and designer items on Thredup and had very good luck with the whole system. The clothes I’m sending in now are nowhere near as expensive as those designer things, so I’m only expecting some dollar-and-change payouts at best. I’m really in it for how easy it is to give your clothes new homes, and in hopes of the “unaccepted items” actually being recycled (my area doesn’t have textile recycling).

I think 3 bags should be enough for everything including shoes- I mean, I’m not putting my socks and underwear in there or anything gross. But I’m excited to see how this goes. It said it would take 2 weeks for the bags to arrive, and then 2 weeks for the clothes to be processed. I’ll be sure to keep you posted. In the meantime, I’ll make sure I steam everything so it looks its best when it arrives. I used to wrap all my items in big sheets of plastic and roll them so they wouldn’t get wrinkled on the way. I’m not sure it’s worth the cost (and wastefulness) of the plastic this time, but it may be. It seems like they don’t steam the clothes once they arrive, so you have a better chance of seeing your stuff sell if you take pains to make it look good beforehand. I know that plus sizes are always good sellers, so I have high hopes my clothes will find homes after all. And hopefully I won’t need to cycle through so many clothes in the future.

Here is the sizeable discard pile:

First, we have the items I just didn’t feel good wearing as I was creating my 25-Item Plus-Size Capsule Wardrobe:

Next are the items from my original 25-Item Plus-Size Capsule Wardrobe that have gotten too big, worn out, or just stopped working for me:

Next are some pajamas that got too big and some workout pants that got worn out:

Here are the shoes that no longer work with my style, or that hurt my feet:

Here are some worn-out socks and underwear:

Then there are items I pulled from storage, but the sweater was worn out and the pants got too big:

And finally, the items I thrifted that got too big or stopped working for me:

The Cake Epiphany

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I was at the coffee shop with Matt yesterday and we were talking about our wedding. I’m going to do a post on our minimalist/budget wedding so we were going over all the different elements of it. One thing we did was to forego the traditional giant wedding cake and order 10 standard cakes from the supermarket- one for each table. The cakes were really good, and there was plenty left over. And as we talked about it, I said, “Man, I could eat a whole cake right now.” As you do when you have as dysfunctional a relationship with food as I do. And then I said, “ But those days are over.” And I meant it. And it didn’t seem that bad. It just felt like a grown-up thought. An adult decision. Kind of like how you can’t drink a whole case of vodka or take an entire bottle of ibuprofen. They’re just not things you can do and be healthy and not get your stomach pumped. Or it’s like how I just can’t eat raw onions anymore because I get acid reflux (apparently as you get older, your esophageal valve gets sluggish and you get reflux from foods that you never did when you were younger). The same thing goes for large quantities of garlic. It just gives me a stomachache now, where as in my twenties, I didn’t cook anything without it.

When I was on a very strict diet for a couple years, back when Matt and I met in 2008, I didn’t eat sugar. Like, at all. Ever. I also didn’t eat wheat (including white flour), artificial sweeteners, or other sweeteners like honey or agave nectar. Ever. It went on for about two years, although for some reason in my head it was more like four. Anyway, it was really hard to do, and the idea of sticking to it for the rest of my life was really bleak. No cake, no cookies, no fried foods, no Diet Coke. Not even bread or bottled salad dressing. For the rest of my life. But those were the rules, and I really liked how thin I was on that diet. I also had really good teeth. I miss that, too. But eventually I started bingeing on dried fruit and nuts, and then finally, on pain au chocolat in Paris. I just couldn’t handle the idea of missing out on croissants in Paris. It seemed like a crucial life experience that would be shameful to miss out on. I tried to recover, going on various other strict diets, counting calories and carbs and exercising constantly. But I just couldn’t get back on board with the no sugar thing. And I think the reason for that was the idea of “never again.” I couldn’t live with the idea of never eating certain foods again.

But yesterday, talking about cake, it was different. I wasn’t saying I could never have a piece or a bite of cake ever again. I was just saying I could never have the whole cake. And that feels OK. I can’t say it’s easy to accept that, but it’s a heck of a lot easier than swearing it off forever. I eat sugar every day, and for the most part, it’s fine. I eat Lorna Doones or Hershey bars with almonds or Stonyfield frozen yogurt. I had oatmeal cookies in Germany as my nighttime snack with my pills, and there was no problem. I just count the calories and stick to the portion that fits into my diet. And I’m not filled with crazed cravings for more. A lot of people who are religiously against eating sugar will tell you differently- they’ll claim that even a bite of sugar leads to just wanting more and more. I used to think this was true for me, hence the really strict sugar-free diet. But this year, I’ve realized that not all sugar does that to me. There have been specific sugary foods that I’ve found it easier to just not eat. I had some particularly sweet, particularly rich chocolate in Germany that I instantly knew was not an option for me. Upon the first bite, I wanted to eat it all. And if I have that response, I’d rather not have to fight it. I’d rather just let it go, back away from the chocolate, and have something more tolerable. I don’t know why Hershey bars don’t do that to me, but they don’t. I can have a whole package of them in the house and it doesn’t bother me. I guess it’s just trial and error. I do find it extremely difficult to deal with foods I don’t know the calorie count for. It’s just not worth the guessing game for me, so I let them go.

I didn’t see this coming, this system for deciding what foods I can and can’t eat, but it’s working for me. It’s a lot of gut instinct, and a lot of brutal honesty as to when I’m feeling out of control. I’ve been around the block enough times with various diets and food restrictions to know what is worth the trouble of eating. To know what will do my head in with intense cravings or calorie confusion. And to be happy with what I can have. I used to think it was more black and white for me. I used to think I had to go to extremes in order to not overeat, in order to stop bingeing. But often those very extremes were setting me up to binge. I don’t feel like that’s happening now. I think this more moderate approach is one that I can accept for the long run. It’s not easy, but I can take it. I’ll take it over bingeing any day.

The Mall and Morning Pages

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I went to the mall. I had to return the linen-blend pants from Old Navy, and thought I’d stop by Macy’s to see if they had any of my underwear. I’ve been wearing and loving the Warner’s “no muffin top” hipster underwear in cotton with a lace waistband. I already had 6 pairs in black, and today I got another black pair and two pairs of dark heather grey with black lace. This brings me up to 9 pairs altogether, which means I can finally get rid of my worn-out microfiber briefs that pull up to my chin when I’m being funny. All this mall-walking got me thinking about T-shirts and the long stretch of time before my smaller storage clothes fit. If I end up eliminating the 3X J. Crew T-shirts sometime soon (they really are too big), that will leave me with 7 tees. I’m also thinking of parting with my white ASOS T-shirt that was so hard-won- destroying the original, switching to a double-layer Gap Factory one, breaking down and rebuying the ASOS one. But you know, it’s never been the same as the first one, never been the same as the black and grey ones. It’s not as soft, it shrank up significantly in the wash, and it’s a bit stiff and short now. Every time I go to wear it, I end up taking it off and wearing something else. Leave it to me to order the identical T-shirt and have it be completely different. Maybe the single tees are different from the ones that come in the 3-pack? It’s a mystery. Regardless, now we’re down to 6 tees. As things have been getting too big and my wardrobe is whittling down, I’ve considered seeing just how far I can take this whole minimalism thing. 6 tees and 1 blouse, 2 jeans, 2 pants, and 1 skirt, 3 coats and 5 layers. Could I get by on this amount- 20 items? Would it even be a struggle? I think I’m going to hold out on buying anything else as far as my everyday wardrobe and see how it shakes out. I was deliberating my T-shirt options, noodling online, trying on various sizes at the mall (Why do LOFT and J. Crew not carry XXL in stores? Would that really be bad for business? I mean, LOFT goes so far as to carry plus sizes in store but no XXL. What’s going on there?). And I guess I’m still keeping thrifting in mind. But maybe I’m discovering another opportunity in all my clothes being too big. There’s the opportunity I recently found to stop looking in the mirror, but this could also be an opportunity for me to push my minimalist muscle.

There is another area of my wardrobe that may need some attention, and that’s my workout and pajama T-shirts. For summer, they’ve worked great- sleep in one, work out in it the next day. But come Fall (and our impending return to Germany) I’ll need to wear something warmer to work out in outside. I have a tight-fitting Under Armour base layer top, but that would need to go under my oversized T-shirts and therefore need to be washed quite frequently. I don’t think we’ll have access to a washer this time- the last time we stayed in this apartment we had to go to the laundromat, so there was a lot of hand washing in a bucket that I did not enjoy. I also own a water-resistant Under Armour hoodie that packs up pretty well, or I have my bulky fleece that I’ve been wearing for the last 40 pounds. Point being, I’m not sure if the T-shirt system will work in the colder months.

And do I just keep wearing the same workout/pajama T-shirts from 40 pounds ago? Do I wait the 4 months for the smaller storage options to fit? Or do I downsize now? I guess the minimalist in me says to stick it out- there’s nothing wrong with wearing oversized tees to work out or sleep in. The consumer in me wants new things! Pretty things in pretty colors! A reward for losing weight! Do I squelch those voices? Or should I channel them into thrifting?

I really go back and forth every day, focusing on the drama of my changing wardrobe instead of dealing with more difficult things. I know that deep down, I want to be more creative, I want to start writing music or poems or going through my older scraps of poems and trying to make something out of them. I got the book The Artist’s Way and have barely started reading it. I got stuck on this whole idea of morning pages: 3 pages, stream of consciousness, first thing every day to get your “artist brain” warmed up. But I just keep writing blogs about T-shirts in the afternoon instead. I’m afraid I’ll “use up” everything I’ve got if I do the morning pages. But maybe that thinking is part of the problem. Maybe there is not a limited well of creative output. Maybe I have more to say, more important things to say, than prattling on about my wardrobe. Maybe I’ve got more in me, and I need to clear the slate each day with the morning pages. It’s worth a shot.

It Was Hard To Get Out Of Bed Today

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It was hard to get out of bed today. I was tired, and in pain. I had gum surgery a few days ago and it has been a rough recovery so far. They really downplay what a big deal it is at the dentist- I mean, you’re just out in the open in a dentist’s chair with no door or anything. And they keep breezily saying how they’ll just send you home with some Motrin and you can drive yourself and whatnot. But Matt came with me- watched the whole procedure no less- and he was pretty horrified by what came out of my mouth. The point being, it was a pretty significant procedure. It’s 5 days later and I’m still in constant pain, Motrin or not. I actually took Vicodin the first two days (I have a prescription for menstrual cramps). But my stomach got messed up from that so I got off of it as soon as possible. Now I’m just on ibuprofen with some extra-strength Tylenol. The dentist claims it’s the equivalent of taking a Vicodin, but I can assure you, it’s not.

And so this morning I was teary-eyed while drinking my room-temperature coffee (gum surgery) and dove back into bed as I contemplated the treadmill. Matt rubbed my feet for a minute before leaving for work (he’s doing some house-painting) and I curled up in a ball on the bed and cried. I eventually got up to get my phone and distract myself with some YouTube. YouTube is, admittedly, my fantasy world. I love even the most mundane vlogs and styling videos and can watch for hours. I imagine my life is as clean and simple as the ones I see on the screen, and I imagine becoming a YouTuber myself one day. But I feel like my house isn’t clean enough, my curtains aren’t right, we have too many books on our bookshelves, and our bedroom is too dark, so I have nowhere to film the imaginary videos. I also feel like I’m still too fat for YouTube and that maybe when I’m thin, I’ll be perfect like the people whose lifestyle channels I love.

After a few minutes, I negotiated with myself in order to get going. Rather than lying down and watching YouTube, I’d get on the treadmill and watch YouTube. So I put on my shoes and pressed Start. After a shower and a frozen yogurt breakfast (gum surgery), I managed to get dressed and out of the house.

I’m back to wearing my linen pants- I’m finding it difficult to come up with a reason not to wear them every day- and am still debating whether or not I’m a skirt person. Yesterday’s experiment of wearing one was inconclusive. But as I put my linen pants on today, I began to question my recent resolution to stop looking in the mirror. It occurred to me that 4 months (the minimum amount of time it’ll take to lose 20 pounds and fit into my storage clothes) is a long time. It’s a long time to be “making do” with these awkward in-between clothes. Because by the time my storage clothes fit, we’ll be well into Fall. We’ll also be back in Germany when that time comes. Which raises the question: How the hell am I supposed to pack for 7 weeks when I’m still smack in the middle of losing this weight? Four weeks was one thing, especially because I had plenty of things that fit to start out with. But at the time we leave for this trip, I’ll probably be about 170 lbs., and my storage clothes will still be tight. So I could pack optimistically, assuming that those storage clothes will fit by the end of the trip, or I could pack realistically, for the 170 lb. body I’ll have when we set off. The realistic option means buying more clothes- something I was hoping to avoid doing. But then light dawned on marble head: I can thrift! It’ll be cheaper and more environmentally friendly than buying new things, and I can pick up some men’s pants for the Fall.

The only outstanding issues would be T-shirts and underwear. This is always a thing with T-shirts- how to avoid Old Navy, LOFT, J. Crew, etc. as well as the smelly, pilled options in your typical thrift store plus-size section. I’d consider looking for tops on Thredup, who seem to curate their clothes pretty well, but I don’t even know what size to look for. I guess I’m still in plus sizes (I have some LOFT XL tees in storage that are still too small) unless some XXL tops could work. And hopefully my current cotton underwear will still be OK- I just need to stock up on some more in my size. Maybe as we get closer to when we leave, I can better assess if new things are needed.

To Shave Or Not To Shave

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I’m wearing a skirt today. I recently pulled it from storage as a summer heat wave option. It’s a white, below-the-knee, straight pencil skirt in a stiff but stretchy fabric. It has a small slit in the back, which makes me feel a little like you might be able to see my underwear, but I’ve been assured that’s not the case, at least according to my husband and the mirror. I’m wearing it with an oversized black ASOS crewneck T-shirt, Adidas sneakers, white ankle socks, and recently shaven legs. I’ve been pretty lazy this summer about shaving my legs since I wear pants much of the time, and for some reason, my hairy legs don’t really bother me when I wear shorts. But I wanted to give this skirt a go as a break from my usual linen pants, and to explore how I feel in skirts in general, and I just didn’t like how it felt with hairy legs.

As I’ve been leaning more and more towards menswear, I haven’t had a skirt in my capsule wardrobe for some time. But there was this picture on Pinterest of a woman wearing a white pencil skirt with bare legs and a blush, oversized, chunky sweater. She carried a great straw bag and had black Converse on her feet, and her ensemble really spoke to me. I loved the light, neutral colors, the mix of masculine and feminine elements, the textures. And back when I first saw that picture a couple of years ago (my weight was down to around 160 then), I searched for those items for myself. I found an oversized blush cotton sweater from H&M for $10, and then I found this skirt at Boscov’s for around the same price. I remember trying on at least a dozen white pencil skirts, selecting just the right one.

But then I rarely wore the skirt. I don’t know if I was feeling precious about the white color or if it was just the ease of throwing on a pair of shorts, but I’m not sure that I ever recreated that Pinterest look. This summer, however, I’ve simply run out of options- my pants and shorts are pretty much all too big, most of my clothes in storage are still too small, and I’d rather not buy anything else at this weight knowing it will soon change again.

So today I put it on, and the jury’s still out on whether I like wearing it or not. It’s comfortable, but I do feel a bit exposed- like I have to keep my legs together and I can’t bend over at the waist without flashing someone. But the real conflict for me is the fact that I felt the need to shave my legs in order to wear it. I have been shaving my legs regularly over the last 20 years- but there was a time when I didn’t.

There were years in high school and college when I decided not to shave based purely on principle. I found the standard of hairlessness for women infantilizing and degrading. Why should women have to look like prepubescent children in order to be deemed attractive? And if men didn’t have to shave, why should we? As someone who had never had a professional haircut never mind a mani-pedi and a bikini wax, I found the decision to stop shaving not so radical, especially within my “hippie” minded circles. But as I finished college and started to look for work in the theater and in opera, I felt pressure to conform to traditionally feminine beauty standards. Wearing short skirts for auditions was considered an unfortunate reality of the business. I convinced myself that “it didn’t matter either way,” and started shaving again. I knew where my ideals stood, but I was dealing with the real world, so I went along with the grooming standards. And I never really stopped until this year.

It started as pure laziness in the winter season. But as more and more time went by and my leg hair grew out all the way, I began to question my own true preferences and ideals. Summer approached and I started wearing shorts, so I bit the bullet and shaved. But then this summer in Germany, I got “lazy” again. And I’m not sure I would have gone back to shaving- until I pulled out this skirt. It just didn’t feel “right” to me without a clean-shaven leg.

I think the question of whether or not to shave is one worth returning to. I’m no longer in the performing arts, at least not in the traditional sense, so I don’t have that to consider anymore. And my principles are really still the same as they were way back in high school. I’m still not interested in dressing for men’s approval, and I still find the socially-accepted standard of hairlessness for women infantilizing and conservative. So what am I doing in a skirt with shaved legs? I’m not sure. I guess I’m not ready to commit either way. I guess I’m playing around with what I feel comfortable wearing, and with whether or not I want to shave.

Apparently there’s actually a current hipster trend towards women accepting and showing their body hair. I’m not sure how much feminism has to do with it- it may be purely fashion. But it’s refreshing to see “the kids” questioning their options in terms of how they present themselves to the world. There’s even a brand of shaving products showing women with body hair in their ads. And so I guess everything old is new again. And it’s kind of nice to not be the only one questioning our expectations for women. Because while this trend is probably not the result of millennials reading Simone de Beauvoir, the issues it brings up are still the same: Who decides what I do with my body? And should society’s expectations for me have anything to do with that?