There’s something about new clothes that makes you feel epic, don’t you think? I wore a new shirt for work yesterday, one of the ones that’s been hanging in my wardrobe for a while which hasn’t just quite fitted me. Until now all of a sudden it does. I bloody love that feeling. I got a compliment from two different people at work, and when I walked in the kitchen back home at teatime my boy looked up from what he was doing and said blimey, you look skinny today…I bloody love that feeling too.

It’s been a while you know…at one point towards the middle of last year, folk started to notice that I’d lost weight and were fairly generous with their compliments, but when I started going back up the scale again those same folk were gracious enough to keep their gobs shut. Well, most people do, don’t they? I can think of one notable exception in my circle of friends who thinks nothing of fat shaming where someone’s gained a little weight but she’s never been brave enough to call me on it. Just FYI I’ve got three dozen one-liners lined up ready in case she ever does, and trust me when I say whichever one I pick will be delivered with relish, possibly accompanied by a smack in the chops.

I can’t really pinpoint the moment where I started to care again, about what I looked like. When I was way north of three hundred pounds there didn’t seem much point in spending too much time in front of the mirror because no good ever came of it, you know? All it did was open the door for the Asshole voice in my head to wheel out one put-down after another, to the point where some days it was hard to lift my head.

I only had a handful of clothes, all of which I’d bought because they fitted me and not because I liked them. A few tops that I’d kidded myself made me look a bit smaller than I was. That’s the difference you know when you’re locked in battle with a fat body…you don’t decide what to wear because the colour suits you, or because something’s on-trend. You pick anything that you think makes you look smaller. In my head it was sole criteria, the only thing that mattered. I’d like to point out to anyone who actually knew me back then, that most of those hideous garments were not worn by choice and let’s agree never to speak of them again.

It’s different now I’ve evicted poundage from my pants. To be fair, there’s a lot more choice and I’m choosing things that I like. And that’s why it’s so lovely when people take the time to pay me a compliment…it’s nice to be noticed for the right reasons and it definitely spurs me on.

I have a little jar you know, where I store my compliments. I scribble them down on a scrap of paper and put them in my jar, and if I’m having a day where it feels like this fucking diet will never end and I’ll never reach my goal, I tip them all out and take a moment to bask in the sunshine, and it never fails to lift my mood. My jar has been gathering dust for a few months but it saw a bit of action yesterday, and it did me a power of good 🙂

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