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TL;DR
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Why we hold on to our clothes
A process for letting go
I swear I’m not a hoarder.
My wife however might argue otherwise. She’d been on me for weeks (okay maybe, months. Fine, YEARS) to cull down my wardrobe. It’s not that there was so much of it, I just barely wore any of it.
So then, what was I holding on to?
And why, when I considered relinquishing a ratty pair of sweatpants, did it reduce me to sobs?
Going through my clothes tended to trigger existential agita, from my contribution to landfills to my life choices.
Because they weren’t just sweatpants. They were the sweatpants that I found out I was pregnant in. Sweatpants I left my husband in. Sweatpants I started my business in. Sweatpants I started my life in.
Giving them away felt like giving myself away.
How could you?! I imagined the sweatpants devastated at my disloyalty.
As someone who has moved a lot, I pride myself on “packing light.” But I don’t think I realized how much my belongings rooted me in place, a constant in an environment that kept changing. The fact that I could touch it, hold it. The physicality of it carried weight.
I always feel emotional at the ending of things, even when I want it. Like giving away my sweatpants, it’s a graduation or a growing up into a new chapter of my life.
Maybe that’s why I have a penchant for talismans. Things like a crystal in the shape of a heart or a plastic owl ring. They provide me comfort, a reminder of my past selves with all their insecurities and innocence.
I’ve outgrown those parts of me, yet I want to hold on to them.
“I’m only four months postpartum – with twins for god’s sake – shouldn’t I get a bit longer?!” I protest to Ashley.
But then she says something that stuns me.
“Don’t you deserve better?”
Dang. I couldn’t argue with that.
“Don’t you want to feel rich?”
I didn’t want to argue with that.
Those sweatpants, while rich with memories, certainly didn’t make me feel wealthy. And this is my Big Money era, where I’ve raised my standards on how I’m treated, starting with myself.
I had to come up with a method.
I started by dividing all my clothes into three piles: things that made me feel rich (must keep), things that were ratty but I felt nostalgic about (maybe keep), and things I definitely wanted to give away (Goodwill, get ready!)
For the nostalgia pile, I let it sit for a week. When I came back, a lot of their scruffiness outweighed their sentimentality, and so I put a number of them in the giveaway pile.
I waited another week to go through the (now whittled down) nostalgia pile and spent time reflecting on the memories. A few more moved into the giveaway pile.
This slow process felt like a proper honoring of sorts. A funeral for my former selves, an acknowledgment of all that I’d been through. And in doing that, it loosened my grip.
I didn’t have to hold on so tight to the past when I was being intentional about the present.
The best way to start a new habit is by replacing an old one. That works for clothes, too. A motivation to move on was by purchasing a few new items (or rather, new to me, Ashley has a midnight habit of eBay bidding.)
Giving away my clothes felt less scary when I had a new wardrobe waiting to replace them. Plus, it was a reminder to raise my standards. The sweatpants seemed even rattier in comparison.
An unexpected bonus was that walking by the closet now became a victory march. I also found myself wearing more things because I could well, find them.
As for my penchant for talismans, those are my kids’ preemie onesies, washed and folded into their keepsake boxes, waiting for them to decide what to keep and when to let go.
Ashley rejoicing at my giveaway pile
This week’s action steps:
➡️ Consider what you’ve outgrown but may still be holding on to
➡️ What do these things represent? What does holding on to them help you with? What might they be holding you back from?
➡️ Create a process of reviewing, relishing, and replacing some of them (whether metaphorical or physical)
➡️ Share this newsletter with someone who needs it
