losing it: clothes

No, this is not a post about being a naturist. If you’re a long-time reader, you’ll know that’s never going to happen.

This post is about…  (duhn duhn duhn)

The Drawer.

Hoarders, this means you

Maybe you have one. Maybe it’s not an actual drawer but a section at the back of your wardrobe. Or a box in your spare room. Doesn’t matter.

The Drawer is the place you keep those clothes that haven’t fitted you in half a decade or more. Your own clothing library.

In my case, it was the middle drawer of my wardrobe.

My favourite clothes in the world were in there:

1. Fuchsia vest with lace trim that I bought in Florida in 1999.

2. Satin pink and orange Gharani Strok for Debenhams skirt circa 2001.

3. Fitted Jasper Conran denim jacket with pink trim and a hint of lycra, which I miraculously found on eBay for less than a tenner.

4. Maroon velvet top from TK Maxx (actually underwear but stylish/supportive/opaque enough to wear on nights out).

5. Kilt I bought in Edinburgh.

6. Sheer black shirt with velvet stripes.

7. Black and white ’60s top, which I always wore to retro night at university when I was 18 (over my short flippy skirt and black vest).

None of these things fitted me anymore, but each one reminded me of a more hopeful time. I was saving them for when I felt better, and lost weight, and got back to the person I used to be.

Except…

Maybe I don’t want to go back to the person I used to be?

The way we weren’t

And maybe not all those times were as wonderful or hopeful as my misty water-colour memories wanted me to believe. I was really anxious about my health when I bought the Strok skirt. I loved going to ’60s night at uni, yes — but because I felt so miserable alone in my room for even a second that I thought I might die.

And that miraculous eBay find? I was so ill when I bought it I’m not sure I ever wore it out of the house.

For years, I’ve ignored these facts, because I have ignored The Drawer. I’ve even transferred it from one wardrobe to another, intact. It has moved house with me.

But when I knew I wanted to clear out and let go, to look at everything I have and ask: “Do I want this? Do I need this?” I knew I had to empty it.

Coming soon to a charity shop near you

I took out all my old favourites. I held them up to me. I stroked them. And then I folded them up gently and put them in a charity bag, and I realised I would be happy for someone else to have them.

I do think I’ll shed some weight in future, but maybe I won’t be a size 12 again. And maybe that’s OK.

Holding onto these clothes is me not trusting the universe: not believing that I will ever find other stylish clothes that I’ll love, not believing that I’ll be able to afford them when I do.

And it’s me holding myself hostage: saying my recovery has to look this one very specific (and frankly, outdated) way.

Letting myself hope

It’s been so hard for me the last 12 years to not strive to be how I was when I first got ill. But clearing that drawer out, for the first time I acknowledged that what I really wanted was for life to be better than that.

And I felt the first stirring of hope: that maybe (possibly, please?) everything good isn’t behind me.

I’m not sure I’ve completely accepted where I am now, and all the things I’ve lost, but I’ve made a start.

At the very least, the middle drawer of my wardrobe is empty of  grief, memories, and clothes that no longer fit me.

Photos via: 1, 2.

Previously…
I’m losing it — and that’s a good thing
Losing it: apologies
Relevantly:
Read about The Shed Project on BinduWiles.com