I have a lot of skeletons in my closet. Not literally, obviously. I’m also not talking about secrets I’d rather not reveal. The skeletons I’m referring to are more of the fabric variety. Soft and silky, or patterned with lace, or frayed with ripped hems, or made up of polyester fibers.
Crammed in closet corners and stuffed in cupboard nooks is my collection of clothes that I, for one reason or another, haven’t been able to part with. There are some that I’ve been holding onto for years. And by years, I mean outfits that I wore in highschool. Others I’ve accumulated from the “give-away” piles of my sisters. It seems I not only have trouble letting go of my own clothes, but other people’s as well.
I have some that I bought on sale, some that I splurged on, and some that I have no idea where they came from.
The funny thing is, I don’t even wear some of these garments. Yet I stubbornly cling onto them, resolutely convinced that I’ll wear that black-and-white-killer-whale-ish top I bought for $19.99 from H&M one day. It doesn’t matter that it’s been sitting there for the past five years and only been worn maybe two times. The rosy promise of one day is enough for me to neatly fold it and place it back in the closet.
It’s still a mystery to me as to why I let some of these items take up space in my life.
Maybe because I can’t bear the thought of giving away something that’s still in good condition. Maybe because they still fit me. Or maybe I’m just waiting for them to come back into fashion.
But you know what I think is really keeping me from giving away my faded jean overalls or my now slightly-faded orange dress? The fear of letting go.
I’ve never been good at it and the process of letting go of clothes seems to be no exception.
You see, what I’ve failed to understand – even after all these years – is that everything has a season. Jobs, and friendships, and yes – for the love of God – even clothes.
What I need to do is stop trying to hold on to everything. I need to release my iron grip on things, thank them for the memories they gave me, and then move on.
I always set out with the best intentions. With piles of clothing scattered on my bedroom floor, I carefully pick them up one by one, frantically deciding what goes and what stays. It’s hard. I can’t look at the give-away pile for too long or I know I’ll rescue something I shouldn’t. (It’s happened too many times before).
By the time I’m finished, my give-away pile isn’t as big as it should be, but it’s a start.
Deep down, I know this is good for me. I’m decluttering my life, getting rid of things that no longer serve me, and making room for better things to take their place.
Shopping spree, anyone?
When was the last time you cleaned your closet?