Let It Go

Today I woke to find Hawea was already busy with a long to-do list. So while she was working on other rooms of the house I took a deep breath and dove head first into a project I’ve been avoiding for a long time: THE CLOSET.

Shudder.

Really, people, you have no idea the horror that lurks behind those doors.

Every morning when I go to get dressed I see things hanging that haven’t been worn in months; and then I notice the growing pile of old favorites that don’t fit. I’m assuming that wardrobe dissatisfaction is a relatively common experience.

But the terror I felt when sorting through the piles goes so much deeper than despair at nothing to wear.

On my bed at this very moment are heaps of clothing sorted by size. I found :
•eleven pair of size 6 pants
•six pair of size 4 pants
•and five pair of size 2 pants
• a heap of size medium and small dress shirts, t-shirts, sweaters and sweatshirts
•a pile of size small workout shorts, tights, &tank tops.

And none of it fits. It’s all too small.

I wish I could put into words the feelings this process stirred up. If I had to summarize in one word, it would be FEAR.

I thought I had forgotten what it was like to be dropping weight every day, hiking my pants up, wearing them with the saggy, empty ass even though it looked ridiculous because I had just bought them and needed them to fit for a while.

I thought I had forgotten the feeling of tops sliding down because my chest that used to hold necklines In place had disappeared without permission.

I thought I had forgotten the helpless feeling of being unable to afford to dress myself with sizes changing weekly.

I thought I had forgotten my desperate trips to consignment stores hoping to find something that wasn’t too dorky because I couldn’t afford to keep buying new clothes.

I thought I had forgotten what it felt like to use all of my energy just putting on the tiny workout clothes.

I wanted to forget it all.

But I can’t. These piles tell the story.

There was a time when I believed that by giving away the piles, I could give away the story too. But it doesn’t work that way.

Hawea just came inside and found me with watery eyes … Wrestling with the decision of what to do with all this crap. My heart wants to pack it up, and put the pedal to the metal… Flooring it all the way to Goodwill. Good riddance.

But my brain says that’s not practical, it says to hold on to it. I’ve spent so much time, money and emotional energy acquiring all this junk that I can’t just give it away.

Vea handed me two large garbage bags and suggested a compromise: fill the bags, and she’ll box them up, out of sight, out of mind, but not out of reach. It’s a practical solution. Let the clothes stay (packed away); let the emotional rubbish go.

So that’s the plan for now. The bags are full, the closet is bare and the lease is up for the monsters tend to lurk in there.

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