Charting life's circuitous path

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Toxic clothes

If a closest could be toxic, mine was poisoning me little by little every day.

I’m not much of a hoarder.  Our house is certainly not clutter free, but I don’t like to see piles of, well, anything.  Living in a one bedroom apartment might account for some of it, but my hubby’s “we might need that later!” from time to time attests to something more personal.

I like orderliness.  I like things in their place and with everything serving a particular need.  Once an item loses that value in my mind, I have no problems with throwing it out.

Except for clothes and shoes.

For me, clothes and shoes take on more meaning than just clothes and shoes.  Life’s ups and downs become embodied in each garment and I attribute certain feelings to particular pieces.  There’s the black lace top I wore to my grandfather’s funeral, the pink silk button-up I wore to an interview or the inch high heels (the only pair I own) that I wore for our wedding reception.

Along with all of these moments, I also infuse the threads with my personal feelings.  Take that blue top with the birds that just made me beam at myself in the mirror at Gap, or that stripey lace number that had me twirling in the stall.

But there are other items that made me sigh with frustration, grimace with distaste or just feel ugly every time I put them on.  Some of those items were gifts and others were bought at a time where I was filling a need with shopping.  I bought clothes because the very action made me feel better.  It wasn’t until later that those very same pieces would make me feel the opposite.

Previously, during my last closet purge, I had only tossed items that didn’t fit.  I kept everything else since they were “good” clothes, even if they made me feel bad.

This created a toxic closet.  I would open the double doors wide and stand there frowning.  There were a few favorites and a number of pieces I loved, but those odd bits hanging in-between seemed to cast a gloom over my entire wardrobe.  Enough was enough.

I spent all morning going through every item.  If it didn’t fit, it went into the donation pile.  If it was too tatty, it went into the junk pile.  If it made me frown, it was definitely going to go.

The end result?  A combined 22 items up for donation and 4 items tossed.

Does our closet look any different?  I wish I could say yes.  Unfortunately, clothes still wrinkle once I hang them up.   🙄

Except there is one thing – everything hanging now makes me smile.

I’ve stopped buying clothes “just because” or if it’s on sale.  I’ve made it a goal of mine to only buy something when it makes me feel special.  I want my closet to feel like a reward for the daily battles with willpower and calorie temptations.  I want to feel my best in outfits that will help me achieve and maintain my goals.

I’m now able to fling open those doors and just beam! 😀