At the end of this year, I’ve been reflecting on what brings me pride, and somehow (though I can’t claim to know exactly how), this links up in my mind with the mantras or words of advice that have stuck with me. There’s “be here now,” a constant refrain that helps bring me into the moment when I’m floating away. But the most prominent is a new one, a mantra I’ve been telling myself for the better part of this year: buy bigger pants. Yup. That’s it. Those are my words of wisdom to share with you at the end of this particular year. Buy bigger pants.

What I mean by this is: accept yourself, wherever you’re at in this life. Don’t keep squeezing into the slightly too small pants just because they used to fit, or because you think they should fit, or because you keep telling yourself to fit into them again already! Perimenopause has changed my body, and at first this was quite alarming, but gradually, I’ve altered my inner dialogue to cherish and accept my body’s many strengths, not least of which is carrying me through this life.

This year, I bought bigger pants. And guess what—no one noticed. (At least as far as I know!) And I felt super comfortable in my bigger pants. Being comfortable in my body is a gift. It is the foundation of confidence, but also of enjoyment and pleasure. I did start going to the gym again, and I’ve done lots of weights and cardio in addition to pilates and yoga, and I’ve enjoyed doing this regular routine as a way to lift my spirits, or metabolize stale energy, or to change the channel in my mind, empty my mind through sweat and effort. But it has nothing to do with fitting back into my former pants. I would like to be a hearty older woman. Sturdy. I might not be able to accomplish that goal, but buying bigger pants has helped me visualize the possibility.

On this note, and another point of pride: one of my children recently told me that till they’d started living with roommates and cooking together, they’d had no idea that so many people worried about their weight, or wanted to lose weight, or had food habits that were dysfunctional or overly strict. That’s because this was not a conversation in our household. Dieting was not a thing. Fear of food, or having to sneak food, or being denied food, or having access to food controlled in any way—this was not a thing. We also have never had a scale in our bathroom. This was deliberate on my part. I wanted and hoped very much to break the generational cycle, which was specifically gendered—girls and women only—and hinged on weight loss. At a family reunion, in my own childhood / teenage-hood, to be told that you looked great was code for you look skinny. I spent my teen years and early twenties struggling with an eating disorder, tracking every calorie that went into my mouth, and, often, in a fit of terrible hunger, binging and purging. I would not wish this waste of time and energy on anyone. Especially my own children.

So there it is: my year in one proud phrase. Buy bigger pants.

Love yourself, love your body, inhabit it fully, care for your body, cherish how you show up in this world, and know that others respond not to the size of your pants, but to the energy and confidence and humour and presence that you radiate.

I do have a second mantra / refrain of the year: I love being with people. Why is this a revelation? I have four children! And yet it delights me to say it, as if reminding myself of a brand new discovery. Other people bring me to life, revive me to my better instincts, draw forth a sense of joy and calm and collaboration. I love that I can’t guess what someone else will ask of me, or need from me; I love the liminality of time spent in conversation or doing an activity together. I love the exchange of energy and mood, and the shifting tones of emotional colour and light, and the way that when you are with other people you are moving through space and through time together, finding your way together, whether this is acknowledged or submerged. 

And that, my friends, is my year in “things I’m proud of.”

xo, Carrie