In general, I’m very good about not collecting and keeping too much shit. The hubster pokes fun at me because I have 3 rubbermaid bins in our storage closet of childhood memories that I’ve been moving around to each place I’ve lived since I was 22. My mother wanted nothing of mine at her home after I left, save for a few items I forgot, and my parents have been divorced since I was 10, so very few things of mine were at my dad’s house.
3 bins of memories.
He has his childhood memories still sitting at his parents house that I’m sure could fill more than 3 bins. “It’s mostly trophies and medals from baseball and golf. I wouldn’t want to make you feel bad.” Modest, that one.
I think 3 bins are pretty good. Truth is, I could probably go through those and toss most things.
But the thing nagging me the most recently was my actual clothes closet. Things weren’t organized, I was wearing the same shit to work each day because I couldn’t really be bothered finding that “cute” shirt and I’m just in a rut. I haven’t really, truly gone clothes shopping for a “new look” in years because honestly, I didn’t need to.
Like I’ve mentioned, if traveling has taught me anything, it’s that I don’t need a closet full of clothes to be happy.
Have I bought new things? Sure. But it’s things here and there. I could have kept some items I bought for our trip to Southeast Asia, but if we weren’t going anymore, why keep them? Return, return, return.
So this past weekend, I spent 2 hours organizing and cleaning out my closet.
I was disgusted.
Even if I tend to go through and make donations every few months to the point our drawers and shelved are getting dull, I really must have been avoiding my closet the last year and apparently, as you’ll see, there was a reason. There was a pile of clothes I just tossed more clothes onto without thinking because I hadn’t worn them in years. One after the other after the other.
I like to think I live a bit more simplistically. And, in general, I do. I don’t have nearly as many clothes as most of my friends and yet, still, I put together 2 bags of clothes and shoes to donate.
Side note: Can you donate bras? The ones I buy to keep these puppies up are expensive and it seems a pity to just throw them out.
Some things were winter-ish items I was holding onto that just seem silly to keep while in Florida. If we ever move above the Mason-Dixon line again (GOD NO. PLEASE NO.) I doubt they’ll even be fashionable still.
And you know me, super model fashionista. Werk it, girrrl.
The sad truth is, some things just didn’t fit anymore. I have no idea how my breasts can keep growing, but they do. The hubster high-fived me when I announced from the corners of my closet that my boobs have a mind of their own.
I was about 5 different cardigans deep when I began to notice a trend. I noticed that most items I was keeping were looser fitting, shells, tanks tops and blouses. I bought some cardigans when we moved offices and it was suddenly freezing because of a new A/C system. My thought was that I wanted to remain fashionable without putting on my winter coat and scarf at my desk.
But I grew into those looser fitting cardigans and blouses. These clothes are covering me up. Both literally and figuratively. I’m not ashamed of my body, but these clothes were sort of telling me otherwise. It really made me quite sad.
I realize that wearing tight fitting clothes doesn’t necessarily mean you’re confident, but most everything I have is just…baggy.
So I did something that took strength bottled in the reserves of my mind.
I donated my favorite pair of giant, oversized, comfortable sweatpants.
You know the ones I wear with my giant, oversized Spice Girls tshirt? (Which, duh, I’m not donating.) The ones that the hubster says he knows exactly how I’m feeling about myself when I wear? Translation: Not good.
When did I stop wearing things that made me feel pretty or good about myself? What the hell is going on here?
I was tossing out bras and underwear when I came across a pair of thongs that made me blush. I used to wear these? It was a quick kick in the ass of how I’ve been feeling about myself. (Don’t worry, hubster, I kept the risqué thongs.)
I donated things that fit funny and things I felt “too” comfortable in. I’m not going to toss my cardigans because it’s still 7 degrees below my nipples being able to cut glass in my office, but at least I’m now aware of what my closet it saying.
Get it together, Caroline, and stop hiding. Be proud of yo’self. (Does your inner voice have sass? Mine does.)
I kept a pair of jeans that are a biiiiit too snug for me to squeeze into and will help serve as a reminder to get my ass in gear at the gym and dinner table. The rest? Tossed. It felt so good to be organized and get rid of the old and toss the things I maybe was holding onto for the wrong reasons.
I’ve certainly been working on getting into a healthier schedule with all of the recent setbacks. Donating those items I’d hope to wear again someday or allowed me to remain hidden was a good step in the right direction.
Do you discover similar things when you raid and clean your closet? Are you reminded of certain feelings or memories when you toss things in the donation bin?