A dear friend of mine lost her 27-year-old son recently.

Standing in front of my closet, I know it really doesn’t matter what I wear to this unexpected funeral. No one is prepared and no one cares what they have on. But still, it does matter to me; this grief runs deep and I need something about this situation to be easy.

Crying, I hold onto a pair of black pants, still on their hanger, with my left hand, while grasping a white shirt with my right. I know the pants won’t fit. Still, I shimmy them up over my hips and get them buttoned. I try to convince myself that I won’t mind passing out due to lack of oxygen. Nope, too tight. Even you can’t make these work.

I search online for a pair in my size, while cursing the fact that I can’t run into town and buy a pair with ease. My size is rarely carried in local stores, plus, given that I’m 5’9”, forget finding my size in a Tall. You don’t even have two full business days to get pants shipped to your door.

Finding a pair, I hesitate, adding and emptying my shopping cart so many times it’s ridiculous. No way am I spending money on a size I don’t want to be right now. No way.   But I have no other options. Reluctantly, I put them in my cart, click on express shipping and submit my order.

When they arrive on time, I sigh. As much as I need them to fit, I don’t want them to.

I hold them up for inspection. These are not going to fit, they’re too big. I pull them up over my hips with ease, no jumping up and down, no wriggling from side-to-side and no squats necessary. Hmph.

Staring at the mirror, afraid to look because I really didn’t want to like them, I’m totally annoyed that I like them. Not bad. In fact, they look pretty good. And they feel great. 

At the service that night, I was overwhelmed with sadness. Not once did I think about my hips being too big, or my clothes being too tight, or how I should lose weight.

I know it may sound awkward to think those kind of thoughts at a funeral, but they’re a constant undercurrent in my brain. They distract me at all times: in a meeting with my child’s teacher, listening to my doctor, and everything in between. (And yes, it’s exhausting.)

But not that night. That night, I am fully present, sharing grief and connected to those around me. Those moments could have easily— and sadly—been riddled with my preoccupation of the size of my pants.

Driving home, I realize where my mind had been all night: Not on my lower half.

I am amazed at what the right fit did for my perspective.

I have no idea why it took me so long to allow myself to be comfortable. How long have I been trying to fit into something, anything, that didn’t feel good?

I start to think about what true comfort feels like. Not just in my clothes, but in my life. It feels empowering. The next day I order a pair of running tights that are a size bigger than the ones I owned, going against every grain in my body that yelled “DON’T GO UP A SIZE! DON’T DO IT!”

When they arrive, I put them on. For the first time in a long time, I am excited—genuinely excited—to lace up.

The following week, my local running group posts about an upcoming group run. I hesitate. I want to click on ‘going’ but I am not going to be running, so why would I go? I am going to skip the opportunity to see friends I love, people I enjoy being around, because running doesn’t fit quite right, right now.

I bite my lip, put my cursor in the comment section and type “Would love to see you, but I’m going to walk.” Who walks at a group run? I hold my breath and hit ‘post.’ To my surprise, within minutes other women are posting “I’d love to walk!” So we do, and it is comfortable—and great.

Embrace your pace.

I LOVE to walk, but I was afraid to say it out loud. I live in an area where women are very, VERY active. They don’t walk, they run ultras; they don’t hike, they climb fourteeners. They inspire me to no end, but when I lost my running mojo I felt completely lost—and I was afraid of losing my running friends.

Walking is comfortable right now. So comfortable, I am actually looking forward to running (a feeling I haven’t had in months).

After three days in a row of getting up at 5:30 AM— a huge deal for this night owl—I commit to meeting a friend for an early morning walk on Saturday.

I lay out my clothes the night before, set my alarm and ignore the weather report of rain. We agree that two miles would be our minimum, scoffing at our own low-grade goal.

“Let’s just keep going ….”

It turns into one of those workouts that could’ve gone on forever. The temps are right, the conversation is amazing; the tights fit; and we have nowhere to be but moving forward. We end up walking a little over six miles.

Sometimes epiphanies come in the strangest packages; mine came express-delivered from Talbot’s. Best purchase I’ve made in a long, long time.