A Midlife Reckoning in My Closet

Not Quite a Crisis—But Not Nothing Either

It was early January and I was standing in my closet trying on newly purchased dresses for an upcoming wedding—a beach wedding in Cancun.

I had ordered the dresses in the same size I’ve worn since college.

Granted, it was just after Christmas, and perhaps the extra champagne was making a brief appearance at my waistline. Still, the dresses didn’t fit the way they always had. They zipped easily enough, but the fabric pulled in places that had never pulled before. Hung oddly where it used to skim. Nothing dramatic—no sharp intake of breath to get them closed—but unmistakable all the same.

Something had shifted while I wasn’t paying attention.

My first thought was practical and immediate:
One size up would fix this.

And it probably would have. A larger size would smooth things out, quiet the mirror, solve the problem quickly. Spanx exist for a reason—maybe that alone could take care of it.

But another question followed—quieter, more persistent:

What’s happening to my body?

Menopause has only been part of my life for about a year, and until now, it hasn’t been especially disruptive. No dramatic entrance. No obvious upheaval.

That’s the thing about menopause—it often works quietly. Incrementally. The body you’ve always known starts responding differently, sometimes without your consent, often without warning.

And the things that used to work?
They stop working.

Skipping wine for a few days. Cutting sugar for a week. Adding an extra workout. Grinding through high-intensity classes because that’s what I’ve always done when I needed a little tightening up. None of it produces the same results anymore. It’s clear now that my body is operating under a new set of rules.

Standing there, I realized this wasn’t really about a dress size.

It was about a decision.

Am I going to simply accept going up a size—or is it time to get curious about what might actually work now?

Maybe going up a size will be just fine. That’s not the issue.
But I didn’t want to do it without first asking better questions.

What does my body need now?
What actually supports it at this stage of life?
What am I putting into it—physically and mentally—that’s no longer serving me?

This age seems to require something different. More mindfulness. More intention. Not harsher discipline—but smarter care. I’m learning that grinding through punishing workouts isn’t the answer anymore - mainly because it’s not working like it used to.. Sleeping better matters more than one more cardio session. Managing cortisol spikes matters. Lifting weights differently matters. Eating with awareness—not restriction—matters.

And yes, being a bit kinder to myself matters too.

Not in a “let everything go” way—but in a way that recognizes stress, exhaustion, and self-neglect have consequences. Often, they show up right at my waistline.

It’s been a few weeks since I decided not to order a size up. I have some time before the wedding, and dropping a few pounds feels doable.

I won’t pretend the weight-loss shot hasn’t crossed my mind. It’s widely discussed now, readily available, and tempting in its promise of speed. I’ve watched friends try it—some with real success, others with more complicated outcomes. One in particular found herself resistant over time, heavier than before, and unsure of what step comes next. That stayed with me.

For now, I’m choosing a different starting point.

Before I outsource this change, I want to understand it. I want to see what happens when I work with my body instead of trying to override it. So I’m starting with curiosity—paying attention to what’s actually going on, and learning the new rules before deciding how far I’m willing to go.