This is not the kind of thing I write about, typically. But, I was inspired to chronicle yesterday’s experience because I felt pretty good about myself at the end of it and I think it’s important for people outside of depression to know that we have good days. Sometimes we have a lot of them. That’s part of what makes it so hard for people to understand. If we’re not down all the time, why can’t we just pull ourselves up? Because it’s an illness and it’s complicated. But yesterday I had a good day, so even though this post feels kind of fluffy, I’m sharing.
BUT BEFORE I SHARE, I’m issuing a challenge to others who are suffering from depression. Do you have a story about a good day? Something you did that made you feel good about yourself for a bit? A normal day where you did normal things and felt normal?
I want to share your story. If you’d like to be featured as a guest blog, please contact me here (include a link to your blog if you have one).
So here goes. My good day.
I don’t know anything about fashion, I’m terrible at girling, and I hate shopping.
Well, ok, that’s not 100% true. I like shopping online. I hate shopping in stores. I think it’s some kind of PTSD left over from going shopping with my mom as a kid and spending hours just browsing in stores. I’m pretty sure my lower back issues stem from standing around for ages on end while my mom just looked at stuff we weren’t even planning on buying. I’m not being mean right now, by the way. My mom is notorious for going out to get a gallon of milk and not returning for three hours. It’s a family joke.
Love you, mom.
What I hate even more than just shopping in stores? Clothes shopping. God damn I hate shopping for clothes, but for entirely different reasons than why I hate store shopping. I hate clothes shopping because it is a soul-crushing experience.
So here’s where this kind of ties in to my typical tirades. Clothes shopping is a constant cycle of disappointment. My body is the culmination of decades of attempting to start an exercise routine, failed diets, two c-sections, depression, hypothyroidism, genes, and eating my feelings. I have an hourglass-leaning-toward-pear-shaped figure that is difficult to find flattering clothing for in stores I can afford to shop at.
The process is a cycle of “This could be cute!’ “Do they have my size?” “Let’s try it on!” “Ugh. No.”
Rinse and repeat.
(I know there are changes I could make that would help me lose weight and feel better about myself, but that’s not the focus for today because I still have to clothe my current body and sometimes that forces me to venture into the world and purchase new garments.)
So I got a birthday gift card from my mother in law for Every Mom™’s favorite red-themed store and decided to see if I could find something cute and summery because my wardrobe is severely lacking in that department. I could Winter all year long. I wanted something I could wear on a normal day that might break me out of my t-shirt/jeans norm but that I’d actually…you know…wear. That requires the garment to be low-fuss and require minimal girling. I had my work cut out for me.
I usually have a hard time finding clothes at the aforementioned store, because everything tends to be paper-thin and shapeless, but I had done my hair and makeup for a job interview so I was feeling pretty good about my appearance. So I thought, “What the hell?” and ventured into the Women’s department armed with my venti coffee Frap and determination.
This was my journey. Apologies for the weird way I hold my phone. I can’t explain it.
So, 90 minutes and $29.03 (with tax) later, I am the proud owner of a romper. I really thought rompers would only look good on stick-thin girls, but I WAS WRONG. Seeing myself in the mirror made me feel really good about myself for a minute, and I didn’t feel guilty for spending money because I used a gift card. I was smiling when I left the store and that happy feeling hung around all evening.
It was a good day.
And it seems silly that something as simple as finding a cute outfit could be the reason I had a good day, but that romper did a better job of telling my self-deprecating demons to fuck off than my medication usually does.
I still hate shopping in general, but at least it’s not always hopeless.
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