I never would have anticipated the sheer amount of stress my mental health would put my husband under.
Today after a long day on the road for work, he drove me to another shop in search of a dress and then an outfit for an upcoming trip.
He hung around outside of the changing rooms. While I pulled on uncomfortable items. One after one. Short length jeans that were still too long, hey I’m 5’5, that’s average! A simple dress that draped on the floor making it unwearable. And a jacket that creased like paper everytime I moved my arms. Let me be clear here. I’m not complaining. I’m bemused. I went to the one shop near me that caters to my size and came away empty handed. Mr W was the dutiful husband who said everything looked fine, but truth be told, I wasn’t willing to spend money on something I didn’t wholly love in the mirror.
And even though yesterday I was upset, today I’m just bemused. I’m laughing that at average height I still found the trousers and dress too long. It’s funny that every item of clothing came up differently on my body. Sizewise I mean. I tried on a range of four sizes and I walked away feeling exceptionally picky.
So for one of the first times in my life I didn’t settle. It would have been easy for sure. If the shoe fits, wear it right? But god what ugly, ill made shoes! I do make myself laugh!
Walking away from the shop, Mr W asked if I was okay. And the truth was yes and I still am.
When I am walking around on our mini-break I will be grateful for the legs that carry me through the National Park. Not the ripped jeans I have no choice but to clothe them in. When my shoulders carry the burden of my backpack with my snacks, raincoat and water bottle, I won’t be thinking of the clothes that keep them warm.
It isn’t life or death. There will be other times and opportunities to look damn fabulous. How I react is the only control I have in this situation. And I choose happiness.
I choose to plaster a smile on my face. Not a fake, faux or little one. But a full, reaching my eyes, chipmunk cheek smile. Because nothing but our enjoyment matters on this trip. I’ll be sliding on my bum to the base of a waterfall and quite possibly catching the raindrops on my head. So me, my ripped jeans and my tatty jumper are going all in!
I deserve that. It doesn’t matter what I wear as long as a smile is on my face. Mr W deserves that. Happy times.
I can’t write. I’m wondering why. I am hitting the keys of my lovely laptop with such vigour Mr W is occasionally looking at me. I know he wants to calmly tell me to go easy. This is frustrating. So frustrating I am allowing the laptop to pick up the errors in my typing rather than sort them myself. I’m usually a good touch typist. I owe that to years of staying up late on MSN Messenger with my friends during my school years.
I absolutely detest writer’s block. My last two blogs have come from my archive of past writings. It has been a busy month I’ll admit but when I’m stuck I’ll look to life as I know it or past trips and away I go. But today – nada!
Maybe today’s shopping experience has left a sour taste in my mouth and brain. I’d like to share with you one tidbit. Maybe you won’t have heard of it. Maybe it’s something you’ll relate to. Not ALL girls like shopping. I for one will find one staple and buy it in every colour rather than tour around a shopping hall. And I have. During my twenties I had every colour of one particular jumper going. And when the shop changed that jumper’s design I felt attacked! How very dare they.
When I worked in London, the story was very similar, I would wear one staple dress in various colours, leggings and a jacket or cardigan to suit. I was a slave to Primark and its easy wear items.
These days, I wear the same two pairs of jeans and choose from my faithful 6-7 tops out of a sea of clothing in my wardrobe. I will occasionally buy a dress for a wedding or a party and it’s the only time I take care in what I’m wearing. I suspect this is because there are other people around and I want to make sure I’m looking the part. Which part that is I’m not sure. Wedding guest. Cousins 30th attendee. Engagement celebrator extraordinaire.
Last year, I did something completely out of character and bought a vivid yellow casual dress. Did I like it? Yes, enough to buy it. Do I like it now? Completely and unfathomably, I have no idea. It fits, it doesn’t need ironing (always a bonus) however I’ve come to the realisation I don’t even know what my style is.
If you’re a returning reader you’ll know I’m a big girl. If you’re a first time guest, I’m a big girl. Small in stature. Curvy round the middle. It’s caused by emotional eating (hello poor mental health) and my life long struggle turned-fight with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. So growing up it didn’t really matter what I liked the look of in the shops, it wouldn’t fit anyway. And therein started the problem. Why try and find a style that didn’t cater for the plus size teenager?
Things are a lot better now for plus size peeps. You’ll find a lot online and have it delivered right to your door! Isn’t that swell! But… What if we want to venture out into the world and shop til we drop? To spend money on clothes instead of bills. To bring home pretty things after a long day with friends, shopping, chatting and enjoying it all.
The last few days, Mr W has tried to push me, ever so gently, into buying new clothes. The vivid yellow dress is the one outfit I can wear without bursting into flames in the recent heatwave. While at home I am the queen of pyjamas and most recently a comfy jogging bottom. Which is fine when you have a fan whirring alongside you but out in the fanless real world, I need some clothes. I had a snoop around online and found a few dresses I liked the look of but I want to see them in person! I hate not being able to feel the fabric and check the length. I ordered a pair of trousers recently and they were definitely not designed for my 5’5 height. I think maybe a height of 6’5 would have worked well. I pulled them up to my bra and went on my merry way.
Lesson learned.
Tonight, we headed out into the dreaded unknown to find the dresses I’d seen online. Only to find, on arrival, that the store was closed. Disappointed we spent the next hour scouring the shops for anything bigger than a UK size 16 and came away entirely empty handed. Oh wait, tell a lie I got some day cream, body scrub and bin bags! Wahey!
It’s only now I truly understand that the highstreet does not cater to anyone above a size 16, who does not want gaudy prints or shapeless sacks to wear. What is interesting about this little conundrum is how the UK’s average dress size is a 16. And yet in all shops but 3 today the biggest size they stocked WAS a 16. I’m inclined to think that the only place my money is any good is online. I’ve heard this so many times on the ‘Go Love Yourself’ podcast (link below) but not yet realised it for myself. All this time I thought I was being picky or not knowing my own style but I’ve come to realise today that I’ve grown up not being given a chance to experience clothing like others.
And that is a very sad situation.
I can hear a few people, there in my head, saying why not lose weight so you can fit into the high street clothes? And the simple answer is, why? Well, and how. My PCOS doesn’t like me thin, in fact it likes to add to my weight whenever it feels prudent to. And there are other women AND men out there who are big for a variety of physical and mental health reasons too. And even if they aren’t big for those reasons, it’s their life, their choice and is their money not good enough?
I came away today deflated, defeated and crying. It’s hard to feel good without being able to project that through clothing. It’s a form of expression. It’s hard to come to the realisation that when it comes to style I have been stifled. As other people have. I assume this is the same for people who don’t fit the ‘normal’ range of heights too. Something has to change.
Well, would you look at that the writer’s blockage has come unstuck. Now if only the block in shops could be removed too!
Framework Travel 