I am sitting in a meeting at work when I feel the buzzing of my phone in my pocket. It is a text message from my husband, telling me he loves me and wants me, right now. I slip the phone back
into the pocket of my size 22 pants and try not to grin.
When my husband and I met, I was deep in the throes of a crush on a trainer at my gym. Geoff was buff and blue-eyed and I was obsessed enough to spend $50 an hour, two times a week for the privilege of having him spot me. In an effort to see him between sessions, I went to the gym nearly every day. The combination of the regular gym attendance plus being too broke to eat out (thanks to those $50 personal training sessions) meant that when my husband and I met, I was in the best shape of my adult life. After a lifelong struggle to feel good about my weight, I was sitting rather comfortably at a size 14 and felt strong and healthy.
And then we started dating and my gym membership and the hot trainer were long forgotten. My husband and I settled into a routine of takeout and cozy dates at home, and I fell wildly in love with someone who loved me right back. It was magic and one of the happiest times of my life. I barely noticed the first few pounds creeping back on.
Our love story proceeded like loves stories often do: Love led to marriage, marriage led to babies, 27 turned to 37, and size 14 turned to size 22.
I’ve worked hard to feel comfortable in my own skin. I won’t lie, I would love to be skinnier. If there was a magic potion that made my stretch marks disappear and returned my breasts to an upright position, I’d take it in a heartbeat. Loving myself now, in spite of and, even on my best days, because of my flaws, is the great ongoing project of my life. One of the things that helps with this project is that after 11 years of a mostly good marriage, I am secure now in the knowledge that I am lovable at this size.