Sometimes, Small Wins Are the Best Wins

It was as if they were mocking me. A favorite pair of jeans, as comfortable as an old sweatshirt or blanket. As flattering as any garment I’ve ever owned. As full of memories of good times and a phase of my life when everything seemed possible. And there they were, hanging in my closet. Impossible for me to fit in to, but calling to me, a visual, tactile memory of what I used to be and what I still longed for but for reasons I thought were beyond my control now seemed out of reach. I should have just given them away. But I didn’t. For whatever reason, I knew I should hold onto them.

So they hung there in the closet, as the jeans on the hangars next to them got a little bigger every year. Two inches, four inches, six inches. Where was it going to stop? Would it ever? Maybe not even stop, just not go up so fast, so reliably. It was inevitable, it seemed.

Until one day it wasn’t. One day—and you know this day—I just said enough is enough. It wasn’t because I wanted to fit back into those favorite jeans. It was more complicated than that. It was about wanting to regain control of my life, and wanting to do something for myself. So I drew a line in the sand and said, “No more.”

The weight started to come off. I exercised and followed the plan and stayed true. And every week, it seemed, the scale seemed to tell a story of slow, steady weight loss. But more satisfyingly, so did the jeans in the closet. The biggest pair was loose around my hips. Then the second-biggest. Then the third. So I tried on the old favorites. They were a little bit tight, but that seemed to have more to do with a lack of use. So I wore them around the house, and before I knew it, that old feeling of comfort and control and ease returned. I was the me I wanted to be.

The numbers on the scale weren’t huge. But those jeans? Fitting back into them meant more to me than any number on a scale. Sometimes small wins are the biggest and best kind.