The one where I cried in Next

My body shape has understandably changed since being pregnant.  I’m losing weight, although haven’t tried as hard as I could have – looking after Daisy doesn’t leave me the same amount of time I used to have to prep fruit and veg – but if I tried hard enough I could find the time.  The weight I’ve lost seems to have only come off the top half of me, leaving me a 14/16 on top and still a size 18 bottom half.  I’m now more triangle shape than pear shape, although I was probably barrel shaped before.

I’ve put off getting a dress for a family christening till the last minute, naively hoping I’d be back in a 14 by then.  No smart dresses fit me, they either fit my top half and won’t go over my hips or fit my bottom half and are huge on top.

I’d been shopping on Friday and got rapidly more fed up with nothing fitting, did more trying on during a Saturday shopping session (during which a dress got stuck on my head in Coast) and then tried again on Sunday.

I was tipped over the edge in Next on Sunday, stood looking at my wreck of a body in the mirrors and burst into tears.  Two of the dresses I tried on wouldn’t go over my hips, and the third did but was so big on top I looked like a hunchback.  I’d had enough.  I tried to get out of the changing rooms without anyone noticing but Phil knew I’d been crying straight away.  Then the assistant realised and tried telling me I could get them in other sizes, I mumbled no thank you and tried to leave – she chased after us and offered to help me find something and to go and get some items for me that might fit.  An absolutely lovely gesture and above and beyond her job (excellent customer service) but unfortunately once I’ve reached the crying point I just need leaving alone to calm down.  Her kindness made me cry even more, and I hurried out with fat tears streaming down my cheeks.

I’m never going to be one of those people who don’t care what people think of them.  I do care.  And I hate that people think I’m a lazy, fat slob.  I don’t want to look frumpy, or slovenly.  I want to look nice and I want to look smart.   I’m already worrying about what I will look like for Daisy’s Christening – one part of me knows that’s stupid, because people are there to see her and they’re my family and friends, who shouldn’t care what I look like, but I can’t turn off the little voice that says people will laugh at me because I look disgusting.  I’ll have to wear trousers and a top this weekend, and hope that nobody judges me for not looking smart enough.

The good thing is it’s made me realise I need to try harder at Slimming World, the last two weeks I haven’t put any effort into it and lost half Ib – the scales show that I’m not making the effort, and I’m wasting £5 a week.  I can weigh myself and see I’m making no progress for free at home.  Today I’ve done better, hopefully the scales will show that at the next weigh in.

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One thought on “The one where I cried in Next

  1. notonlytea

    I’ve been there (avoid M+S changing rooms they have evil three way mirrors). The high street is evil. If it helps at all, I always think you look absolutely fabulous as you are and your clothes always suit you.

    Reply

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