Fourteen Bags and a Missing Butt

Fourteen Bags and a Missing Butt

🌼 Date: Tuesday, June 23, 2026

⚡ Energy: Closet-cleaning ambitious, body said “ma’am, no”

💖 Status: Fourteen bags lighter

😮 Outlook: Apparently my closet needed cancer recovery too

Today I decided it was time to start cleaning out my closet.

Cancer and chemo come with all kinds of unexpected little gifts.

And by gifts, I mean things no one asked for, ordered, wanted, or would ever register for.

For some people, treatment brings bloating and weight gain.

That is what happened with Bryan, so that is what I prepared myself for.

Before chemo, I bought bigger sweatpants, leggings, T-shirts, sweatshirts, and even a couple pairs of wider slippers because I remembered how hard it was for him when nothing fit.

My momma heart remembered.

My planner brain activated.

And I thought, I can at least be ready for that.

Because hi.

Have we met?

I am Tina.

List maker.

Planner.

Professional overthinker.

Queen of “let’s prepare for every possible scenario.”

Except cancer and chemo apparently did not consult my list.

Instead of gaining weight, I lost almost 40 pounds.

Forty.

Pounds.

For a while, the oversized baggy look was kind of cute.

Very cozy.

Very “I am recovering and mysterious.”

But then it shifted.

Quickly.

The pants started falling off my hips.

My shirts started sliding off my shoulders like I was auditioning for an ’80s Jazzercise video.

And my butt?

Gone.

Missing.

Flat as a board.

No cushion.

No voluptuousness.

No built-in seating support whatsoever.

Who ever thought no butt would be a Tina problem?

Not me.

Now I have to sit on pillows and butt cushions because apparently my body donated its padding without asking me first.

So today, out came the big black garbage bags.

I started with pants.

And I laughed.

Because the pants I wore just last year?

I can now pull them straight down over my hips without unbuttoning or unzipping them.

One motion.

Right over the hips and the non-existent ass.

Step out.

Done.

Ridiculous.

I left each rejected pair on the floor and moved on to the next one like some kind of sad little fashion assembly line.

A few stretchy jeans survived.

A few pull-on summer pants made the cut.

Everything else?

Thank you for your service.

Then I moved into the closet and started on shirts.

And by “started,” I mean I did what I could before my body reminded me that I am not, in fact, running on full battery.

I did not get to the dresses.

I did not get to the tank tops.

I did not get to the coats.

And honestly, I only did a half-ass job on the shirts.

Which feels appropriate since I currently only have about half an ass anyway.

By the time I was done, there were fourteen black garbage bags sitting in the driveway waiting for Veterans pickup.

Fourteen.

Bags.

And a whole lot of empty hangers.

So many empty hangers that I had to move them into the guest room closet because staring at them felt a little rude.

Refilling those hangers is going to take time, money, and energy.

Three things I do not currently have in abundance.

But it is strange how few outfit choices you need when you are not working.

Right now my wardrobe requirements are pretty simple:

Can I nap in it?

Can I wear it to a doctor appointment?

Can I wear it to Mexican food?

Can I wear it in the camper?

Will it stay on both shoulders?

Will the pants remain on my body without me needing to clutch them like a Victorian woman fainting onto a sofa?

These are the standards now.

Cancer has changed a lot of things.

My body.

My energy.

My hair.

My nails.

My chest.

My butt.

Apparently my entire closet.

But today, I made a little space.

In the closet.

In the cupboards.

In the chaos.

Fourteen bags gone.

A few things kept.

A lot of things released.

And one very tired Tina reminded herself that even when life changes your body without permission, you can still clean out a closet, laugh at your pants falling down, and call it progress.

Tiny Tina: now accepting donations of energy, stretchy pants, and one reasonably sized butt.

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💗 Tina –
One Badass Day at a Time