I once was afraid of the dressing room, the things I could not fit into.

The lights, the mirrors, the mockery. A thousand girls made of magazines.

A thousand friends with knives in their hands. A thousand sisters, a thousand demands.

With shiny hair, poked out ribs and sunken in bellies. Staring, comparing they’d find me there and tell me:

You’re pretty girl but it’s not enough.

You’ll never be one of us.

I once was afraid of the dressing room, the things I could not fit into.

So I ran and I starved and I choked out the fat. I beat up the curves I made myself flat.

I stood in aisles for hours reading the backs of labels. I counted and controlled until I was no longer able.

Until I binged and I purged on tubs of whipped cream, peanut butter jars and late night tv.

With shiny hair, poked out ribs and sunken in bellies. Staring, swearing, they’d find me there and tell me:

You’re pathetic girl, give it up. 

You’ll never be one of us.

I once was afraid of the dressing room, the things I could not fit into.

The lights, the mirrors, the mockery, all at once grew very tiring.

So I stopped and I stood and I stayed there awhile, with nothing to try on, without any style.

Naked, exposed, I looked rather plain. Nothing to fit into, nothing to attain.

Like a little girl I felt a need greater. For someone to know me. I felt a need for my creator.

With hair like the sun and fire in His belly. Caring, bearing, He found me there and helped me.

He didn’t say a word, He didn’t give commands. He just stood there with me and held me by the hand.

Doctrine, religion and theology have never made much sense to me.

But the day He came and took my hand is the way I understand.

I am the bride and He is the groom and I am no longer afraid of the dressing room.