We're all ok.

Since quitting smoking, almost 5 months ago, my clothes have taken on minds of their own.  My sweaters have become somewhat deceiving, my button-downs somewhat estranged, and my jeans - my jeans have become downright bitches.

Since I quit smoking, my clothes have all shrunk.

I don't know how it happened.  One day, I was happily puffing on a cancer stick, oblivious to the repercussions of abruptly throwing in the towel and the next I was 15 pounds heavier.

This photo

is a bit of a celebratory photo.  I don't care how much I've lost since starting this blog.

In fact, I've gained about 15 pounds.  Fat isn't funny, but neither is constant stressing about weight.

15 pounds.  That's a lot.  But when I start to think about the weight of the world - it's really nothing.

15 pounds.  It's life and death for a supermodel.  Thankfully, I've never been a supermodel.

15 pounds.  How many botox injections is 15 pounds?  I've never had one.

15 pounds.  It's worth a lot more in the United Kingdom than it is in the United States right now.

15 pounds.  It's insignificant.  Especially if I choose to focus on the rest of me.

We don't do that enough.  We focus on the small percentage of ourselves that didn't live up to the expectation we place on ourselves when we're excited about change and wonder where we went wrong.  Perhaps we go wrong when we expect ourselves to be perfect.

We're human, and while I'm not making excuses for my gaining weight after quitting smoking - I am acknowledging that I am just that - human.

And I'm happy to be me.