Nearly a dozen years ago, I was at a California beach visiting my then boyfriend. After a picnic lunch, we went for a walk and he started telling me he couldn’t imagine life without me, and he didn’t want to. Then he pulled out a sparkly, princess-cut diamond ring and asked me to marry him. I said yes. A few times, for emphasis.
Last year, I stopped wearing that princess-cut diamond ring. No, we weren’t fighting. Things were fine between us. No, my tastes didn’t change. I still loved the ring. It’s just that it no longer fit. My finger sizes have ebbed and flowed, through three pregnancies and a messed up thyroid. After a few months on Weight Watchers, I could easily slide the ring back on. I was proud of that non-scale victory. But then life came, the Weight Watchers subscription ended, and the pounds returned. And the ring came off.
For the last several months, that beautiful ring has been living in a drawer.
Let me say that again: for the last several months, that beautiful ring has been living in a drawer.
Is that where my sweet husband intended for it to end up, nearly twelve years into marriage? No. Not at all.
I’d open the drawer to grab something and pause for a moment to admire the ring. Then I’d close it back up, safe and sound in its dark home. I’d wish and hope that I could lose weight, so that I could comfortably wear it again. I even felt guilty. If I could just lose some weight, I could easily wear that ring.
But then I decided to stop waiting.
Last week, I dropped the ring off at a local jeweler, swallowed my pride, and asked to get an estimate to have it sized up.
It was surprisingly affordable, and within a few days, the ring was back where it belonged. It was right where it was always suppose to be; on my left hand, cozied up to my wedding band.
I picked it up on a particularly sunny day, and it was like I was newly engaged all over again. I couldn’t stop turning it to catch the sunlight, and I’d giggle as I admired the sparkles. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much. It was money well spent.
And then I found myself wondering, “why didn’t I do this sooner?”
In this case, I was embarrassed that my fingers had grown over the years. I was embarrassed that I had grown over the years. I didn’t want to put that ring back on until I looked like my 23-year-old self again. (Or, at least until I had the waistline of my 23-year-old self again.)
But you know what? It’s okay. It’s okay to be bigger than I was when I got engaged. It’s okay to embrace where I am right now, and pay for the size adjustment. If I had waited until the weight magically fell off, it could be several more years before I got to wear and admire my ring again.
I put this weight on while building a family and a beautiful life with the man who first gave me the ring. And that alone is reason enough to stop waiting and embrace where I am, right now. (Metaphorically and physically.)
But now I’ve challenged myself to stop waiting in other areas. And that’s a little scary.
Next up? All those pre-pregnancy clothes. They have got to go. (But they’re so cute!)
