I was having one of those days when I felt all woe is me. my life sucks. I don’t fit into any clothes, anywhere.

And so I was in a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad mood.

Despite the fact that the clothes not fitting is entirely my own fault. The chips I ate afterward to help myself feel better about the clothes not fitting (how’s that for a self-destructive cycle?) are entirely to blame. Who put them in my mouth? me.

The thing that I hate most about clothes shopping is that I don’t just get frustrated with the fact that I can’t find clothes that fit, that I like. I start to hate myself.

Literally. I tell myself I’m a bad person because I’m too fat for cute clothes.

Ugh.

So, I was working all day to fight those feelings and thoughts. I was trying to remind myself that I’m lovable, worthy, and good no matter my weight or what clothes fit or don’t fit. I have a husband that loves me, family that loves me, friends, I’m good at my job. Etc.

I got home, and Rory followed me around the house. When I sat down she cuddled in for a long winter’s nap, purring wildly. She was happy that I was home, as was I. She was happy to see me and she could care less if I am a size 16/18 or a size 2. She just loves me.

I could take a lesson or two from her.