The day I threw my clothes out, I remember crying on the floor surrounded by every single stitch of clothing from my closet. I had walked to the closet to find something to wear to a concert my band was playing later that week. Every piece I picked up was (at least) two sizes too small or the wrong shape. Everything I picked up I had been able to wear a couple years before and felt ok in.
I started pulling hangers out faster and faster until I was throwing everything over my shoulder in a blind rage.
And then came the tears.
My husband walked in and, poor guy, had NO CLUE how to help. So I called my mom. She helped me back from the ledge like she always does, (I don’t even think I told her why I was upset?) and I put my big girl panties on (literally) and began cleaning up my mess.
It was then I realized that I don’t like how these clothes make me feel. That I’m inadequate (how come I can’t bounce back after this last pregnancy?) That I’m old ( HOW many years ago did this fit right??!!)
That I’ll never be able to wear cute clothes again (certainly not THESE ones!)
I decided it was time to let them go. I mean, at this rate they won’t even be stylish anymore by the time I’m ever THAT size again. I kept things that meant a lot to me (gifts from hubs and my parents) and put everything else in a plastic bag.
Disclosure: I had to keep enough to wear for the time being, seeing as public nudity is against the law😂
But I can say that once those clothes were gone, IT was gone. That dread of getting dressed every morning and the eventual giving up when nothing but maternity jeans would fit. Now, I had something to look forward to…
And as I brought things home, the remainder of the old was thrown out. Nothing in my closet today makes me feel that old way. And if it does, it goes right in a bag. Life is just too short!