What the hell is wrong with this woman?

As the woman stood in the dressing room, in front of the three-way mirror, she stared at her reflection. She was wearing low-rise, size 11 blue jeans and a black sleeveless, v-neck top. She looked at the blue jeans, hanging on her body, about ready to fall off.

Her friends were right, she needed new jeans. These looked awful on her, the butt was saggy and hanging down below where it should be. There was loose fabric around her hips and her thighs. From the waist down she resembled a homeless person wearing ill fitting jeans. Her shoes were cute, red high heels, but they didn't detract from the jeans.

She turned and looked at the pile of jeans laying on the chair and the jeans on the hangers. She had six pairs, two size 12 and four size 10. One pair of size 10's were slim-fit. She knew jeans tended to run small so even though most of her clothes were size 10, she hadn't dared try on size 10 jeans. The fear of rejection by a piece of fabric was more than she could bear.

First she pulled on the size 12's. Too big. She let out a sigh of relief. Next were the size 10's, they fit, and they weren't tight. They hugged her butt, but that's what jeans were suppose to do.

The last pair was the size 10 slim fit. She knew this was ridiculous, but maybe. She easily pulled them up over her hips. The real test was if she could zip them and not have flab hang over the top, the dreaded muffin top.

As she zip up the size 10 slim fit jeans, with no muffin top in sight, she had a feeling of elation. All those hours at the gym, all that deprivation of eating whatever the hell she wanted, it was all worth it.

The woman leaned against the wall in the dressing room, staring at her reflection. She still didn't like what she saw. Her hips were too big, her thighs too heavy. She found herself being critical of every part of her body. Her arms too flabby, her waist too thick.

Then she stared at her face, looking into her eyes. The thoughts whirling in her mind, thinking about the size 10 slim fit jeans that were on her body and how that conflicted with what her mind was telling her.

The woman thought back to 17 months ago, when she weighed 240 pounds. She remembered her size 18 jeans had split open in the butt while she was at work. The fabric tearing because of her excess bulk. She remembered buying her first pair of size 20 jeans. It was one of the most memorable and humiliating moments of her life.

She couldn't help but think, "what the hell is wrong with me?'

Yes, the woman is me, and this happened last night. I'm still wondering why I think I'm so fat. Why can't I truly accept who I am and what I look like? I'm not asking for compliments. As kind as you are about my appearance I honestly don't see what you see. I keep telling myself I've accepted it but it's a lie. A big fat lie.