The Seam in the Middle

The Seam in the Middle

In the middle—where things feel most stretched—is also where we find our shape, our support, and sometimes, our magic.

There was a sort of magic in the way Lily Harper fastened her shapewear each morning.

Not that anyone would ever call it magic, not aloud. Not in Maple Glen Estates, where the houses matched like cutouts and the mums on every porch bloomed at precisely the same time. No, in Maple Glen, magic was replaced by things like early pick-ups and PTA minutes, meal-prep and muted Zooms. But still, there was something about that shapewear—a soft, cocoa-coloured bodysuit with reinforced seams and a panel that whispered, I’ve got you—that made Lily feel like she was stepping into a version of herself she almost remembered being.

It wasn’t about looking thinner. Not really. It was about feeling...held. Supported. Like someone—or something—was on her team.

Lily was thirty-eight, with a five-year-old who refused to wear socks and a marketing job that expected her to pretend it wasn’t run entirely by men named Chad. Her husband, Joel, was kind but perpetually busy, like a helpful hologram. So, Lily floated somewhere in the middle—needed by everyone and seen by almost no one.

Until the email.

“Hi Lily,” it chirped. “We’ve just had a cancellation on the morning keynote panel: Women Who Do It All. We need a dynamic voice. You up for it?”

Lily stared at it. The Women Who Do It All panel? Her? Someone must’ve dropped out last minute and she was the only one left who hadn’t blocked the event organizer.

Still, her heart thumped. You up for it?

She wasn’t.

Not really.

She hadn’t spoken on a panel in years, and even then it was from behind a podium, knees knocking behind a plant. She’d gained weight since then. Lost time. Lost practice. Lost herself, maybe.

She closed her laptop and reached for the laundry basket.

—

The night before the panel, Lily stood in front of her full-length mirror wearing the only pantsuit that didn’t scream “parent-teacher conference.” Her son, Toby, padded in and flopped on the bed, clutching a half-dismantled T-Rex.

“Why are you wearing your work smile?” he asked.

“My what?”

“Your face. It looks all...shiny.”

She laughed despite herself. “It’s called lip gloss.”

He nodded solemnly. “You look like a boss.”

It was a small thing. But something shifted.

After Toby fell asleep, Lily opened her bottom drawer. The shapewear lay there like a secret waiting to be rediscovered. She stepped into it slowly, smoothing the fabric over her skin, the seams snug against her sides. It gave her a shape—not just physically, but emotionally. Like her scattered pieces had all been tugged into place.

It wasn’t that it made her smaller.

It made her feel together.

The next morning, she walked into the conference center upright and brisk. She still felt like an imposter—but at least she looked like she belonged.

On the panel, the moderator lobbed the usual questions: balancing acts, guilt, time management. The woman beside Lily rattled off her schedule with the precision of a war general. The one on her left talked about the merits of meal subscription boxes.

When it was Lily’s turn, she cleared her throat.

“I used to think confidence was a reward you got after proving yourself,” she said. “Like you had to wait to feel worthy. But I’m learning it’s the opposite. You have to choose to believe you’re enough now—even if your kitchen’s a disaster and you forgot it’s your kid’s library day.”

A ripple of laughter.

She went on.

“I wore shapewear today. Not because I hate my body—but because I like feeling supported. It’s a bit like life. You can hold yourself in a little, not to shrink who you are, but to show up as the version of yourself that doesn’t quit.”

That’s when something odd happened.

People nodded. Someone took notes. A woman in the back mouthed “thank you.”
And Lily...glowed. Not because of the lip gloss. Because she had chosen to believe she had something to offer. And just like that—she did.

—

That night, after Toby was asleep again, Joel peeked in the bedroom.

“Panel go okay?” he asked.

Lily smiled. “I think I said something that mattered.”

“You always do,” he said, and kissed her forehead.

She took off the shapewear and folded it carefully, like a charm that had worked its spell.
Tomorrow, she might wear it again. Or not.

Because now, she knew the magic had been hers all along.