I’m in full closet clean-out mode.
You know the ritual.
The seasonal migration.
Winter clothes go into exile, stuffed into plastic bins like they did something wrong, and spring/summer gets resurrected.
I got rid of four Amazon bins of clothes in 2024.
FOUR!
That felt like growth. Healing. Personal evolution. I let go of a lot of my favorite size 2 items. That was a little easier, because I have absolutely no desire to be that tiny again!
Apparently… it was just a warm-up act.
Because as I sat there, opening these clear plastic bins, staring at the contents like artifacts from a past life, I realized:
This is not a closet. This is a museum. And every piece has a story.
There’s that dress! Oooh. That was a fun night. I remember fun. I think. It has been a while.
There is the one I wore when life felt lighter. When everyone I loved was still here. There’s the outfit I wore to my granddaughter’s graduation. And just like that, I’m not sorting clothes anymore, I’m standing in a moment I would give anything to step back into.
There’s a top my younger, bolder self, wore. Back when my confidence didn’t require a pep talk and a backup plan. I literally change clothes three or four times each day and not just because of the dress code of the new job (which I haven’t had in thirty years!) but because I’m typically unhappy with the way I look.
And then… there are the body memories.
Oh yeah! My favorite kind of disrespect. Because it’s not just the clothes. It’s the body that used to fill them.
The knees that didn’t look like they were wearing meat curtains.
The calves that had ambition.
The arms filled with muscle.
The armpits… listen… nobody prepared me for the plot twist that is the aging of armpits. I feel like they too should be wearing panties! I’m just going to leave that right there.
And somehow, every piece of clothing is holding onto that version of me like:
“She might come back.” And I’m standing knowing the truth…. “She ain’t coming back.”
But here’s the truth no one tells you about decluttering. You’re not just getting rid of clothes. You’re letting go of versions of yourself.
And that is hard.
Because even the versions that are gone… mattered. The body that changed… carried you here. The moments that are over… shaped who you are now.
So yeah, I stood there longer than necessary. Debating about things I haven’t worn in years.
Releasing the past, even when it’s stitched into outdated fabric, is not easy.
But here’s what I’m learning in this whole “Shedding 2.0” season. It’s a SEASON OF RENEWAL. (I stole that from Greg Osby’s 1989 recording title.)
Some things aren’t meant to fit you anymore.
Not the clothes.
Not the life.
Not the version of yourself that lived inside them.
And maybe the goal isn’t to squeeze back into who you were, but to make space for who you’re becoming.
Even if she needs new clothes.