I went on some sort of wild rampage through our closet this weekend. We moved into our house when I was about 30 weeks pregnant and although the house got unpacked, it didn’t get organised all that well. Like closets and offices are just dumping grounds for stuff that still needs to find its permanent home.
My husband is a pack rat. If the end of the world came, he’d have enough of everything to survive. (clothes, light bulbs, half-used batteries)…you get the picture. I LOVE to purge stuff out when I haven’t used it. It’s something where I actually feel like I get high when I throw stuff out.
…but lets ‘call a spade a spade’….I’m an emotional pack rat.
So we were going through his clothes. He has three suits. I’ve never ever seen him wear a suit. I pick up one suit from the depths of the back corner of the closet.
“So, are we keeping this suit?” I ask
“Well, let me look at it…”
“When was the last time you actually wore it? Like legit wore it?” I questioned
“1998! are you kidding me, that was 16 years ago. We’re NOT keeping a suit that you haven’t worn in 16 years!” I declared
He took Ainslie out for an outdoor adventure that involves daily checking of the fruit trees and an overall survey of our infantile garden. I get daily updates on how much the blossoms on the apricot tree are growing. I’m not joking.
I’m sitting in the closet sifting through stuff and I come across them. My own emotional baggage manifested in clothes I haven’t been able to wear in years. I bought them when I was at my lowest both weight wise, self-esteem wise…etc. I crash dieted into those clothes and I had kept them as a token, a carrot, a goal to aim for. I have never got into them, but I’ve trekked them around through four different moves. Insanity.
I’ve been working with a new counselor and she threw something at me the other day “have you accepted where you are?”
I took those clothes and realised in that absolute instance that not matter size or shape I do or don’t become. Even IF I get to a point where I can get into those clothes again..I NEVER EVER WANT TO BE THAT GIRL AGAIN. EVER! And I won’t.
Sometimes we have to actually just accept where we are. My husband is a pack rat. I’m an emotional baggage collector. But it’s ok to be where are you. Stop torturing yourself with trying to go back and be something that you once were. Be where you are, progress from that starting place.
And for the love of God, please get rid of the suit you haven’t worn in 16 years.
p.s. I just told husband how I was going to write about how he hadn’t worn the suit from 1998. He corrected me and said it was 1996. TWENTY YEARS! AHHH!