Clothes that fit.

One of the tropes of the pandemic was:   living in yoga pants.   Or, not just yoga pants, but comfortable clothes in general:  pajamas on the bottom and buttoned Zoom-ready shirts on top, or maybe just pajamas all day if you can conduct business by email and voice call.   My spouse is still working out of a home-office carved out of half our game room, webcam and all, often in a Work Shirt, running shorts and sandals.  I hope the flourishing armies of delivery drivers were wearing supportive shoes and clothes they could easily move in, too (and that my neighbors and I tipped them well enough to pay for good functional ones).

Now that I am vaccinated and shopping in person is safer, I have been systematically replacing my wardrobe.   I've put it off too long.  Not entirely voluntarily, but to some extent. It would certainly be understandable to put it off if I needed to stay in a strict budget and replace things one at a time as I could afford it; lots of people have to do it that way; but I have been economically fortunate and do not have that excuse.   No, over the last few years I have gradually changed clothing sizes and, well, tried to ignore it.  The involuntary part is because just about when the clothes I was wearing started to be no-longer-deniably small for me, the pandemic hit and delayed me further. 

But now that I've started to buy new clothes again I've realized just how much I undervalued simple comfort.

Freedom of movement, functional pockets in the right places, clothing that doesn't gap or tug if I bend or stretch or sit a certain way, clothes that fit.  I had almost forgotten what a difference that makes.

+ + +

The first things I got, which kind of set me off in this direction, were some summer dresses from eShakti.  If you don't know eShakti, well, take a look:  you can send in your measurements and get clothing (mostly dresses) made-to-measure and customized with your preferred sleeves, hems, and necklines.  The dresses came back, I held them up in front of me by the shoulders, and I thought:  whoa those are thick in the waist.  And then I put one on and took a deep, cleansing, belly-expanding breath, and thought, "I am going to live in these dresses all summer."  And when I looked in the mirror I didn't think they looked bad at all, despite the loose waist.  

Selfie with dress that fits.

Here's the thing about clothing based on a tape measure:  it's honest.

The next things I got were new athletic clothes.  I've been lifting weights three times a week and swimming or running twice a week, with the occasional yoga session thrown in.  (More on that later.)  Result:  I am living in gym clothes a lot.  You know how one of the tips and tricks for getting yourself to exercise, if you can swing it,  is to start your day wearing the gym gear?  Or sleep in it, to help nudge you to wake up and go running?   I have been doing that.  And I finally got tired of the tops being too unsupportive and the bottoms being too squeezy. 

I finally got tired of it...  No, that's not really what happened.   I think I could have gone on with slightly uncomfortable athletic wear for a while.  What really happened is that, as is relatively normal in weightlifting, I have been taking progress photos every month to monitor the muscular development of my arms and shoulders.  And indeed my arms and shoulders are getting more muscular, and also I can tell that my pregnancy-damaged core muscles are doing a much better job holding my insides in place.  But also the athletic clothes are not getting any more well-fitting.  I guess it was reasonable to think that they might possibly do so, since you never quite know what will happen when you start lifting weights:  you might get larger, you might get smaller, you might do both at the same time in different places.  Now that some months have gone by, though, it's clear that I should stop waiting to see if the running pants and support tops will fit again, and should just start amassing a wardrobe of clothes that fit.

So I've got new quick-dry hiking pants and new roll-up climbing pants with the phone zip-pocket behind the knee.  Runnig capris and sports bras and support tanks.  A one-piece number that is like a singlet with a stretchy sheath dress over the top.   Some yoga stuff.  New bike shorts.   

+ + +

What I didn't expect was that I would feel instantly so much better and more optimistic.  There are some subtle cues that too-tight clothing sends you all day long.  In the past I had even believed that I needed discomfort in my clothes to remind me, you know, not to eat whenever I felt like it;  I thought I had shed that self-punishment, maybe I hadn't completely.   But now that I can breathe again, I feel released, easy:  not just in the sense that my body isn't pinched and compressed by my clothes anymore, but more comfortable in my own skin.  I feel not just good, but well.   Like I am already on my way to reaching my goals of being stronger, more flexible, with better balance.  A sense of power and capability, and gratitude for movement.  

I put off buying a larger size because I didn't want to be a larger size.  But I did want clothes that fit.  The tape measure helped me get over it.

+ + + 

About ten years ago, in response to a reader question, I wrote a post about "acceptance," though I definitely meant specifically self-acceptance, and should have said so.  Acceptance of other people's selves is a matter of justice; self-acceptance, of humility properly understood.  So if I wrote the post today, I'd write it differently.  For example:

I'm not really happy with the vocabulary surrounding the debate about "acceptance."  Should people accept their bodies as they are?  Is the fat-acceptance movement healthy or not?   

One thing I didn't grasp at the time I wrote this:  the "fat-acceptance" movement has an important self-acceptance component for sure, but a far more urgent feature of it is the work to compel others—institutions and gatekeepers—to accept the existence of fat persons, who have the right to equal treatment, respectful health care, and comfortable, safe access to public spaces.  Missing that was an ignorant mistake on my part.

Here's much of the rest of that post, lightly edited.

The words "accept" and "acceptance" are weaselly.  People choose them for their positive connotations (who will come out against "acceptance?") but their precise meaning requires more information. 

First: "to accept" needs an object to make any sense at all.  One doesn't merely "accept," one accepts a thing -- or a person, or a place, or an idea.  To describe a person, for example, as "very accepting," says nothing of substance, only imparts a glow of positivity, until the writer specifies:  Exactly what does she accept?

Second: the verb morphs its meaning depending on what the object is.  Watch this:

• "I accepted the job" = "I agreed to the terms of the offer of employment."
• "I accepted the gift" = "I agreed to receive the gift and I received it."
• "The college accepted me" = "The college permitted me to enroll as a student."
• "I accepted that fact" = "I acknowledged that fact as true."
• "The restaurant accepts credit cards" = "The restaurant will receive payment in the form of credit cards"
• "The employees accepted the poor working conditions" = "The employees endured the poor working conditions without complaining"

What all these threads of meaning have in common is the notion of receiving willingly or agreeably.   A thing which is "accepted" is received, along with all its consequences, whether they be good or bad, with the assent of the will in some way.   But notice the necessity of the concept of "receiving"—something is grasped, or taken, or taken on, that was not grasped before. 

So when you're talking about "accepting a person" the meaning is perfectly clear if that person has either undergone a sort of a change, or else despite some measure of apparent other-ness, has been "received" as a fellow nonetheless.

 When a college accepts a student or a team accepts an athlete, the meaning is that a person has newly become a member of a group because the group has agreed to admit him. 

When a grown child's new spouse is accepted as part of the family, that means that—even though the other family members didn't get to choose the spouse—the family nevertheless willingly extends "membership privileges," treating the new person as a family member. 

When we Catholics in our wedding vows agree that we "will accept children lovingly from God" we mean that we promise to welcome children that we don't yet have, should they arrive. 

All of these cases involve an act of will, but also an act of receiving.  Even if the receiving happened without our explicit chance to consent (as in the case of the in-laws, or sometimes in the case of the children!), the act of will that turns it from merely "receiving" to "receiving willingly"—to "accepting"—is a choice.  That act of will may happen much later than the act of receiving (perhaps the in-laws take some time to "accept" the new spouse) but the receiving is still implied.

So—here's a question—how can one "accept one's body?"  

"I receive my body willingly?"  That doesn't really work, unless personhood and will precede embodiment, a belief that I'm betting few or none of my readers subscribe to.    I have been embodied since my beginning.  I cannot "accept" it in any literal sense, because I never "received" it.   I can accept someone else's body but it's nonsense to say I accept my own.

So when we say something like "body acceptance," meaning one's own body, we must be using "body" as a euphemism or as shorthand for the real object.  

What's the real thing we accept?

+ + +

One possibility:  we accept a physical condition that our body is in.    This connotes "endure without complaining"—in the way one might accept a privation, or a punishment, or the "poor working conditions" mentioned above, or a disease.  

But even this isn't really specific enough to say whether such "acceptance" is healthy or unhealthy.  What's the attitude inside?  The term doesn't specify.   

I'll-prove-I-can-withstand-this?   

Looking-on-the-bright-side?   

Maybe uniting-my-suffering-to-the-suffering-of-Christ, or complaining-won't-help-so-why-bother? 

Any of these will do to be described as "accepting the conditions."    But I think you'll agree that which one is meant makes a very big difference to the spirit.

+ + +

Another possibility is that we accept some idea or truth or statement about our body.   This means, simply, "we believe" that idea or truth.  In that case, whether it's healthy to "accept" the truth or idea hinges on whether the truth is true!   

"I accept that this morning I weighed X pounds" is a lot different from "I accept that I will always weigh  X pounds."  

"I accept that my physical condition increases my risk of developing diabetes" is a lot different from "I accept that I will develop diabetes." 

"I accept that I wear a size Y" is a lot different from "I accept that I have to wear big baggy clothes to hide my ugly hips."  

"I accept that it's very difficult to exercise" is a lot different from "I accept that I am not able to exercise."

The original post was written as an answer to the following question, which (following the way my blog was going at the time) focused on weight loss:

[W]hat do you think is the sequence for losing weight? Not accepting your body, so you change it; or accepting who you are and then from that acceptance just 'loving' yourself enough to change.

When Delores asked me that, did she mean "enduring" a body-condition, or does she mean "believing" a body-truth?  I think the question becomes more logical if we frame it as follows:

"What do you think is the sequence for losing weight? 

• Is it:  (1) refusing to accept the proposition  "Changing your body is impossible or undesirable."   Instead, accepting a different one:  "Changing your body is possible and desirable."  (2) taking steps to change your body.
• Or is it (1) accepting the relevant facts about yourself:  that your body is in a certain condition, and that you live under certain constraints, and that you have certain tendencies and desires; (2) with the power that comes from that knowledge, just willingly making sacrifices or acts of will that create good changes."

These are not mutually exclusive propositions.  They are each incomplete, and can be put together to make a sequence that is more complete.  

1.  Understand and believe the relevant facts.

2.  From those facts, discern carefully whether a change offers benefits.

3.  If a change offers benefits, discern carefully from the facts whether they are possible to attain.

4.  If there are benefits that are possible to attain, determine from the facts how they could be attained. 

5.  Decide whether you want to expend the effort to attain them.

That's the order of operations, without using the word "acceptance."  

+ + +

Not totally a complete order of operations, though, because it's important to acknowledge that not every desired change is within the reach of the will:  sometimes there are real obstacles.  And not every desired change is, shall we say, correctly desired?   Occasionally we feel a manufactured dissatisfaction, or one imposed from outside pressure.  

Ten years later, I would also add that there is some trial and error involved:  expending the effort could bring desired results, undesired results, or nothing.  That outcome produces facts that should be fed back into the discernment loop.   I've definitely experienced some changes in the facts since I wrote that, and have had to update my priors, and redirect my efforts. 

And sometimes just de-center the dissatisfaction, and re-center in gratitude.

Giving my body space to move and breathe isn't challenge-free (it does cost money and time to make any change) but it is just not that complicated, compared to so many other more grueling sorts of change-work.   I don't have to earn the right to the space to move and breathe, and neither does anyone else, in any sort of body.

 

 

 

 

 

First: "to accept" needs an object to make any sense at all.  One doesn't merely "accept," one accepts a thing -- or a person, or a place, or an idea.  To describe a person, for example, as "very accepting," says nothing of substance, only imparts a glow of positivity, until the writer specifies:  Exactly what does she accept?

Second: the verb morphs its meaning depending on what the object is.  Watch this:

• "I accepted the job" = "I agreed to the terms of the offer of employment."
• "I accepted the gift" = "I agreed to receive the gift and I received it."
• "The college accepted me" = "The college permitted me to enroll as a student."
• "I accepted that fact" = "I acknowledged that fact as true."
• "The restaurant accepts credit cards" = "The restaurant will receive payment in the form of credit cards"
• "The employees accepted the poor working conditions" = "The employees endured the poor working conditions without complaining"

What all these threads of meaning have in common is the notion of receiving willingly or agreeably.   A thing which is "accepted" is received, along with all its consequences, whether they be good or bad, with the assent of the will in some way.   But notice the necessity of the concept of "receiving"—something is grasped, or taken, or taken on, that was not grasped before. 

So when you're talking about "accepting a person" the meaning is perfectly clear if that person has either undergone a sort of a change, or else despite some measure of apparent other-ness, has been "received" as a fellow nonetheless.

 When a college accepts a student or a team accepts an athlete, the meaning is that a person has newly become a member of a group because the group has agreed to admit him. 

When a grown child's new spouse is accepted as part of the family, that means that—even though the other family members didn't get to choose the spouse—the family nevertheless willingly extends "membership privileges," treating the new person as a family member. 

When we Catholics in our wedding vows agree that we "will accept children lovingly from God" we mean that we promise to welcome children that we don't yet have, should they arrive. 

All of these cases involve an act of will, but also an act of receiving.  Even if the receiving happened without our explicit chance to consent (as in the case of the in-laws, or sometimes in the case of the children!), the act of will that turns it from merely "receiving" to "receiving willingly"—to "accepting"—is a choice.  That act of will may happen much later than the act of receiving (perhaps the in-laws take some time to "accept" the new spouse) but the receiving is still implied.

So—here's a question—how can one "accept one's body?"  

"I receive my body willingly?"  That doesn't really work, unless personhood and will precede embodiment, a belief that I'm betting few or none of my readers subscribe to.    I have been embodied since my beginning.  I cannot "accept" it in any literal sense, because I never "received" it.   I can accept someone else's body but it's nonsense to say I accept my own.

So when we say something like "body acceptance," meaning one's own body, we must be using "body" as a euphemism or as shorthand for the real object.  

What's the real thing we accept?

+ + +

One possibility:  we accept a physical condition that our body is in.    This connotes "endure without complaining"—in the way one might accept a privation, or a punishment, or the "poor working conditions" mentioned above, or a disease.  

But even this isn't really specific enough to say whether such "acceptance" is healthy or unhealthy.  What's the attitude inside?  The term doesn't specify.   

I'll-prove-I-can-withstand-this?   

Looking-on-the-bright-side?   

Maybe uniting-my-suffering-to-the-suffering-of-Christ, or complaining-won't-help-so-why-bother? 

Any of these will do to be described as "accepting the conditions."    But I think you'll agree that which one is meant makes a very big difference to the spirit.

+ + +

Another possibility is that we accept some idea or truth or statement about our body.   This means, simply, "we believe" that idea or truth.  In that case, whether it's healthy to "accept" the truth or idea hinges on whether the truth is true!   

"I accept that this morning I weighed X pounds" is a lot different from "I accept that I will always weigh  X pounds."  

"I accept that my physical condition increases my risk of developing diabetes" is a lot different from "I accept that I will develop diabetes." 

"I accept that I wear a size Y" is a lot different from "I accept that I have to wear big baggy clothes to hide my ugly hips."  

"I accept that it's very difficult to exercise" is a lot different from "I accept that I am not able to exercise."

The original post was written as an answer to the following question, which (following the way my blog was going at the time) focused on weight loss:

[W]hat do you think is the sequence for losing weight? Not accepting your body, so you change it; or accepting who you are and then from that acceptance just 'loving' yourself enough to change.

When Delores asked me that, did she mean "enduring" a body-condition, or does she mean "believing" a body-truth?  I think the question becomes more logical if we frame it as follows:

"What do you think is the sequence for losing weight? 

• Is it:  (1) refusing to accept the proposition  "Changing your body is impossible or undesirable."   Instead, accepting a different one:  "Changing your body is possible and desirable."  (2) taking steps to change your body.
• Or is it (1) accepting the relevant facts about yourself:  that your body is in a certain condition, and that you live under certain constraints, and that you have certain tendencies and desires; (2) with the power that comes from that knowledge, just willingly making sacrifices or acts of will that create good changes."

These are not mutually exclusive propositions.  They are each incomplete, and can be put together to make a sequence that is more complete.  

1.  Understand and believe the relevant facts.

2.  From those facts, discern carefully whether a change offers benefits.

3.  If a change offers benefits, discern carefully from the facts whether they are possible to attain.

4.  If there are benefits that are possible to attain, determine from the facts how they could be attained. 

5.  Decide whether you want to expend the effort to attain them.

That's the order of operations, without using the word "acceptance."  

+ + +

Not totally a complete order of operations, though, because it's important to acknowledge that not every desired change is within the reach of the will:  sometimes there are real obstacles.  And not every desired change is, shall we say, correctly desired?   Occasionally we feel a manufactured dissatisfaction, or one imposed from outside pressure.  

Ten years later, I would also add that there is some trial and error involved:  expending the effort could bring desired results, undesired results, or nothing.  That outcome produces facts that should be fed back into the discernment loop.   I've definitely experienced some changes in the facts since I wrote that, and have had to update my priors, and redirect my efforts. 

And sometimes just de-center the dissatisfaction, and re-center in gratitude.

Giving my body space to move and breathe isn't challenge-free (it does cost money and time to make any change) but it is just not that complicated, compared to so many other more grueling sorts of change-work.   I don't have to earn the right to the space to move and breathe, and neither does anyone else, in any sort of body.