Next week, I start the process of moving for the 2nd time since July… 9th time since 2008. By this point, I have mastered the art of moving to a new home- I know the best ways to package dishes, how to transition my cat to a new place, and the list goes on. This time is a little bit different though.
This time, I am moving into the house that my fiance and I purchased together. There are a million things that I am freaking out about. This will be my first time with a roommate since college. We are buying a FREAKING HOUSE. We will have a mortgage and lawn and things to fix all on our own. I feel like I am able to jump into the ride of my life. I will write more about the process as we tackle each obstacle, starting today.
Today, I took on a massive challenge. Today, I downsized my closet.
I know, that sounds absolutely ridiculous. How can getting rid of clothes be so hard? Isn’t that the most first-world, stereotypical woman thing you’ve ever heard? Let me explain…
Getting rid of clothes is impossibly hard for me. Over the last 10 years, I have worked so hard to keep an imagine- the girl that is well-dressed, pulled together, and perfect in every way. By wearing this armor of pretty clothes, I kept people from knowing my secret. By looking the part, I thought I could trick people into believing that I was okay… maybe, I could trick even myself. Clothes protected me from the stigma associated with mental illness. They disguised my depression. They fed my anxiety.
Now that I am on the road to becoming myself- the person I am choosing to be beyond the mental illness- I am ready to start leaving that armor behind. Staring at me from across the room are 7 boxes of clothes ready to find a new home. This time, they are no longer armor. They are just clothes. This is one little battle, but it feels amazing to win nonetheless.