I was hanging clothes in my closet, and remembered something I saw on Buzzfeed’s FB feed today (yes, I take my Buzzfeed/FB experiences very seriously). A woman struggling with her weight tossed out her old clothes, and it helped her journey to feeling better about herself.
Without really thinking about it, I did just that. I removed the clothes I have to look at every day without being able to fit them. And…as can be expected…I cried. I’m not even sure why at first – I just took a cute green fairy shirt off its hanger, folded it, and placed it on my bed, then went back for more cute clothes that were mean because they didn’t fit (and haven’t for a long time).
Then I realized it was a mix of emotions I was feeling. Of course, there was sadness and self-pity for the flattering shirts I would never wear again. Then I realized the majority of these items were purchased while in my 20’s and wouldn’t actually be appropriate anymore for where I am at this point in life.
I also realized that some of these shirts were so damn SMALL, and I remember wearing them and feeling awful about myself because my mother kept telling me how fat I was. Now all I can do is wish I were that ‘fat’ again. I also know not to believe anyone, least of all my mother, when she tells me such things (though I wouldn’t allow this to happen anymore anyway). Maybe I wasn’t supermodel material, but it was good enough, and I didn’t realize that until it was gone.
There was about 10 minutes of crying, and I was actually pleased to find that the pile of ‘small’ clothes wasn’t as big as I had assumed it would be. I emptied half of my side of the closet, and strangely enough, now that’s it’s over, I don’t feel like crying at all anymore. It’s almost like it was necessary to get rid of these anchors, these reminders of a time that will never return, before I could feel free.
Dramatization. I didn't actually burn my clothes. But I should. They deserve it.