Stripped

I have decided to no longer worry about my weight as of this moment.

This decision has been building as I’ve watched my adrenals take a beating and life challenges just don’t diminish.

I don’t overeat, but the thyroid cortisol response thickens me as a type of buffer against brutal reality.

So, rather than continuing to feed into this stress cycle, I must no longer worry about it.

It’s like the situation with my clothing.

I cannot afford more, or to diversify, so I must no longer desire to.

Sometimes, I will go briefly down the isle of a thrift store, looking for quality weave, and wonder what lifestyle I’d be living to support such a theme.

The cool part is that if I let my identity dissolve even further, then eventually, I could ease into just about any fashion statement I could imagine.

But, we live in a small apartment with little storage space.

My work uniform is the same everyday – and I like it. It serves its purpose and does not complicate.

I noticed earlier today that on the shelving above the fridge, to the side and behind the on top microwave that’s hard hard to reach, I have backstocked my basic favorite liquids..

On the left side are my mango juice and unsweetened rice milk containers.

On the right are a month’s worth (or more if I portion it) of rosemary water.

Am I officially a bachelorette to know the few simple things I like and stick to them?

Yes, I drink straight out of my refrigerated juice jar.

I lightly scoff a bit at other people’s complicated life styles: the elaborate meals they’ll make and fuss over, for example.

I haven’t had the illusion of that kind of food security for longer than I can rememeber.

I am in awe that people feel safe enough to invest in it.