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The 7:00AM Lie.

 

You pull on the spring shorts.  You already know they're tight, but you try anyway.  You do that desperate little hope.  You suck it in until your chest hurts.  You pray that this time the button won't feel like a physical assault on your dignity.

 

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But they don't fit.

 

 

You stand in front of the mirror, looking at how your stomach spills over the waistband - that soft, stubborn muffin top that wasn't there five years ago.  You catch your side profile and your heart sinks.  "Is this just who I am now?"

 

 

You throw the shorts on the floor.  You grab the same black leggings for the fourth day this week.  You find the oversized shirt that hides the pooch.  You tell yourself you don't care, that it's fine.  

 

 

You feel invisible.  You feel old.  And you feel like a failure.

 

 

You've tried the starvation plans.  You've done the punishment workouts.  You've looked at your closet - full of clothes for a woman who no longer exists - and thought about giving them all away.  

 

 

But you still have an inkling of hope . . . and stubbornness.  You just want your body to stop being a problem you have to "manage" every freaking morning.  You want to stop wearing "the only thing that fits" and start wearing what you actually love.

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I've Been There (and My Pants Revolted Too)

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Years ago, I felt like my body was hijacked.  I was zombie-exhausted, cramming in cereal and homemade nachos while tossing Cheerios at my kids.  Yeah, I was doing squats and lunges . . . to yank my pants up.

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I was frustrated and embarrassed.  I tried dieting torture, starving and pouting all day.  I made it 7 days before I broke.

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I didn't want a health plan.  I didn't want muscle tone.  I wanted to stop hating my reflection.  I wanted all my pants to freaking zip.

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I've spent 13 years perfecting the exact way to easily shrink the waistline without the misery.  And it all started with refusing to buy bigger pants.

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