Over the weekend, my husband John and I went to a West LA movie theater to see Amy Shumer’s new comedy, Trainwreck. John loves the movies, and he loves Amy Shumer; he’s got a thing for funny women.
But we didn’t go to just any old movie theater–we went to a movie theater that has A BAR.
A bar, you guys. And not just any old bar, but bar that allows you to take your wine INTO THE THEATER with you. Well, as many of you know, I’ve been known to take in mason jars full of wine to the movies. This simplifies things quite a bit.
Anyway, the movies. So it’s always cold as a mofo inside the theater–have you ever noticed that? I hate being cold; that’s why I live in Southern California. After 8 consecutive East Coast winters, I just can’t seem to handle cold anymore. As such, I always make it a point to wear pants and/or a light sweatshirt when we go to the cinema.
But it’s Summer, okay? And I don’t want to wear pants. Just. Don’t. Wanna. Plus, when I do wear pants, I opt for leggings, given that I only own a few pairs of jeans. And honestly, it’s just too damn warm for leggings.
So I found myself at an impasse. Faced with one of the very few instances in which I found leggings to be an unacceptable choice, I tried on a pair of jeans I hadn’t worn in months…because Cali, so I don’t wear pants if I can help it.
It’s hot. I’ve been drinking a lot of vino. I’m on my moon time. I’m bloated. Plus, I’d just showered and applied lotion, which, as anyone knows, is the worst conceivable time to put on jeans.
So of course, I launched into full blown “OMG I AM SO FAT AND MY JEANS DON’T FIT ME” mode, right?
I chalked it up to the heat, my hormones, my lotion, and the fact that they’re just a pair of damn jeans. That’s all. The fact that they fit a little tighter than usual doesn’t mean I’m any less fab than I was just a few seconds ago before I tried to pull them on. The snugness of the jeans is not a defining factor in how worthy or strong I am.
In the past, something like that would’ve put me in a horrible mood. My entire disposition was determined by how I felt about my body; if I felt lean, I enjoyed myself. If I felt fat, I gave myself a verbal lashing and my mood turned sour.
In the past, I wouldn’t have had fun at the movies if I’d not fit into my jeans–and as a result, I’d have made my husband miserable as well. But now, after many years of practice, I make a conscious decision not to let something so trivial define my behavior and my energy.
It’s just a pair of jeans. A few pieces of denim sewed together that don’t have the power to shift my energy or disrupt my bliss.
Sure, I felt unusually constricted in my normally relaxed and roomy boyfriend-style jeans, but that was due to a host of factors, all of which I am comfortable with–all of which I accept as the natural flow of my body.
None of the reasons they didn’t fit have anything to do with my worth as a woman. None of the reasons they didn’t fit have the power to turn an otherwise lovely date night into a pity party.
So, instead of stuffing myself into my jeans, (and, unfortunately, feeling like it was a bit too warm for leggings) I threw on a long sleeve, flowy Free People tunic, my favorite Levi’s cut-offs, and a pair of flat boots. I chose an outfit that made me feel feminine, sexy, comfortable, and confident.
John and I hopped in an über over to West LA, had a few drinks at the bar and a few more inside the theater. The movie was hilarious and we had such a great time together. I could have spiraled into “my jeans don’t fit and I suck” self-hatred, but I don’t want that. I want more than that.
I want cold, crisp wine and belly laughs, and carefree Summer date nights. I don’t want to let a pair of jeans take me out of my power–so I choose not to let it do so. Every single day I choose and practice choosing, and every single day I am stronger.