This week has been dedicated to clearing out my clothes. Mr E has decreed that we are decorating the bedroom, and as we will need to rearrange the wardrobes (closets to my American friends), I first have to go through everything I have and decide whether to keep, donate or throw out.
It’s hard. First off, I have too many clothes. I have those things that I loved so hard I wore them out but can’t bear to throw away. I have clothes that were impulse buys that I’ve never worn but know will come in handy… one day. Then I have clothes that I have grown out of / never grown into / am keeping until I shed that pesky half stone that clings to me like a limpet. All of these should be easy to throw out, right?
Well… no, not really. Because I have an emotional attachment to them. Whether they bring happy memories of the days I wore them, or the last vestiges of hope that I’ll ever fit into them, they’re more than just pieces of sewn-up fabric. They give me promise of a better life, thoughts of a time when I was happier. A dream that I’ll finally be a size 10 (that’s really tiny, okay!) That’s what makes this clearing out thing so hard. If they were just things that meant little to me, then I’d happily jettison them. But if I get rid of them now, it’s like I’m admitting I’ve moved on or am never going to fit in those clothes.
Let’s face it, I’m not. So I’ve filled up the bags and taken them to the charity shop for somebody else to enjoy. Which leaves a lovely gaping hole in my wardrobe waiting for new clothes to be bought and for the cycle to begin again. Which in my very humble opinion is a pretty good metaphor for life. And in the meantime, have a little drool at how I imagine my perfect storage space to look. So much better than the mess I have now!
Have a great week!