Memos from the Middle

Fat Pants: Time to Move On

I love a good pair of fat pants. You know what I’m talking about, right? Those are the pants that after a particularly stressful day at work and the subsequent binge on chocolate caramel cheesecake I can slide on with ease and run errands in without looking as large as I feel. They are the pants that my husband instinctively knows to wash even if he doesn’t wash anything else. They are the pants that given the right shirt can be transformed from smart career option to workout staple to pajama bottom. They are amazing, magical pants that bring so much comfort and reassurance to a busy professional mom.

But now, I’ve lost so much weight that my fat pants are just big pants. They don’t fit even if I have that milk shake and large fry as a snack after dinner, and I find myself hiking them up every few seconds as I walk cautiously around Walmart, trying not to expose the high-waisted granny panties underneath. When I really think about it, my fat pants dilemma makes me a bit uneasy. I have grown to count on these babies in a crunch. I’ve even worn them two days in a row without so much as a second thought. What in the world am I expected to do now?

Perhaps this fat pants mental obsession, which until now was just quiet assurance of their presence and utility, rests more in the fact that my life’s trajectory keeps slamming ferociously into my consciousness, and I’m struggling with figuring out which way to turn. I mean, if my fat pants no longer work, what in my life is really working?

I crash to the floor, tripping over the legs of my fat pants. I was running to the bathroom after waking from the toilet dream, and now a little wet and achy, I’m  contemplating for the first time getting rid of my ride or die trousers. Whoa, whoa, whoa…I tell myself. Let’s not be too hasty. I’m literally sitting in a puddle of urine trying to convince myself not to chuck these pants. What if you gain the weight back? What are you going to wear on leg day at the gym? 

I feel foolish: those freshly laundered pants smile haughtily from my drawer right now. They know I’m too chicken to bid them adieu. They know it’s easier to see all they’ve brought me through than to imagine life without them. They know the mere thought of trying to find new pants sends anxiety swimming through my veins. My longtime companions now sneer at me, reminding me that I’ve never done adulthood without them. I get physically sick at the thought of throwing them away, and yet, I know that they provide no real joy in my life any longer. They flat out don’t fit! I need to move on, but I’m scared to do so.

Heavenly Father, you know the fat pants, both metaphorical and literal, in my life. You know I’m having a hard time letting them go. You know the root of this is fear and a lack of faith. You know I wrestle with feelings of being ungrateful on the one hand and unfulfilled on the other. Give me the courage to let them go, Lord. Give me the strength to turn to You and only You for comfort, reassurance, and sustenance. Remind me of You when I get weak or fret or begin to deter from You and Your will for my life. Let me walk boldly toward You and ground myself in You. Amen