Not Popping My Blouse Button Became the Daily Goal
The stress of consulting, Subway dinners, and button-down trauma
In my early 20s, my corporate wardrobe consisted of fitted button-down shirts from The Limited and Ralph Lauren. This was before tunic shirts and blouses.
Any, my biggest challenge was ensuring my buttons agreed.
It was my first job out of college. Consulting. Which meant hotel rooms, client lunches, and surviving on a $100 per diem, which to me was glamorous. I was 22 years old and ordering room service at the Marriott every night - penne pasta and a glass of wine.
One day, the team went to lunch together. I was wearing a crisp, pink Ralph Lauren button-down, you know the one. Preppy. Clean. Power girl vibes.
Except one of the buttons over my chest had popped open. No one told me.
Not through lunch.
Not during meetings.
Not for hours.
Eventually, my manager pulled me into a conference room.
I thought I was about to be praised for my work.
Instead, she said she was writing me up.
“Indecent exposure.”
Because a button popped open over my chest.
Over a fully-covered bra. At a lunch she attended.
This Is What Stress Looked Like:
I didn’t cry. I apologized. I nodded. I promised to “be more careful.”
Then I went back to my hotel room, where I stayed every week while traveling between Boston and Stamford, and I made a plan.
No more free room service.
No more “bad” foods.
No more embarrassment.
That night, I walked laps around the mall across the street.
I ate a Subway sandwich (because I’d seen Jared lose weight doing that).
Then I stopped by the Lindt store and bought a bag of truffles.
And ate them. Fast. Before I could feel guilty. Before I got too sick.
This was my routine:
Trying to be good.
Failing.
Shaming myself.
Repeating.
The Button Wasn’t the Problem.
I wasn’t overeating because I was lazy.
I wasn’t craving sugar because I lacked willpower.
I was stressed, ashamed, and trying to hold myself together, literally.
No one told me back then that chronic stress raises cortisol, and cortisol tells your body to store fat in your belly.
No one said to me that traveling weekly, sleeping poorly, and eating in secret weren’t just habits, they were symptoms.
No one told me my body wasn’t broken.
It was responding to a life that was out of sync with what it needed.
I’m Telling You Now.
If you’ve ever unbuttoned your pants under your desk.
Or skipped lunch because your blouse was too tight.
Or eaten chocolate in your room to feel something that wasn’t loneliness.
You’re not alone.
You’re not wrong.
And you don’t need to fix yourself, you need a system that wasn’t built to shame you in the first place.
P.S. I’m working on something big.
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