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I just bought new jeans...

I am in no way sharing these personal thoughts and experiences to be compared to others. I get it. It could be worse. It could be better. I am sharing to connect with others so we can be more loving and less judgmental of ourselves and those around us. So, moving forward...
First of all, I am upset I had to buy new jeans.
Second of all, I am really upset about being upset I had to buy new jeans. Because, I recognized my flawed thinking and attribution of worth… but I still care a little...
I couldn’t wait to put on my real pants after I had my son. My body shifts and grows and shrinks in weird ways while I am pregnant, and I am able to wear my pants fairly quickly. My legs get smaller while my belly gets bigger. I put my pants on about a week after and with pride patted myself on the back, because, why? I don’t know… I thought I was special, or awesome, better than other ladies. (I am trying hard to avoid my own insecurities and shortcomings by comparing and judging.)

I also couldn’t wait to get back to the gym. I wanted to sweat, work, lift and shred every bit of baby pudge from my body. As soon as I was cleared to resume usually activities, I was on it. All I could think of was, what’s-her-name on Instagram whose baby was 10 months and she looked banging. I gotta keep up, right?
But, here I am now, buying new jeans because I need a bigger size. *sigh* I can get my current jeans on, but I have to wriggle, squeeze, and suck in while I button them up. And, after -like- 7.5 minutes I want to take them off.


I want to walk around with a marquee hanging over my head flashing this message on repeat, “I am trying. Please, don’t judge me.” Why? Because, I care what the world says. I want to appear to have no struggles and live a flawless life. I am chasing the world’s definition of perfection. I am chasing and chasing and chasing, and I am not catching anything but a few hollow comments encouraging me to keep chasing…
I look in the mirror and see all these things I want to change. I see love handles, stretch marks, dimply thighs, and saggy boobs. What a shame? Do I have no faith in my friends and family to be understanding and still love me. Like, all I have to offer this world is what I look like. There is actually nothing in my life that requires me to look any different than I do.

I think about the book, “You are Special” by Max Lucado. It’s my favorite. I recognize I want to be the wemmick who is unstickable. The stickers just don’t stay. She doesn’t need the stars of others, and consequently the dots don’t stick either. She knows where her worth lies, and she shares that message with others. I truly want to be her. I pray to be her. But, in order for that to happen I am going to have to stop divvying out stars and dots to others in order to make myself feel better. Put, the measuring stick down, Saige.


So, I bought new jeans… and it’s okay. I don’t care like I did. I actually feel much lighter.

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