What skeletons are you keeping in your closet?
Mine? They’re mostly stretched out bathing suits, unused wool coats (I live in a tropical country for God’s sake), crumbling old notebooks and piles and piles of clothes that I don’t wear anymore.
All right. So they’re not the typical ‘skeletons’ that people refer to, but to me, they seem to be or at least are a part of that which are MY real skeletons.
Let me explain. Just today, I opened my closet, saw the organized mess and decided to take action. I allocated two spots, one on the bed and one on one corner of the closet in question. Everything I wanted to keep stays inside, everything else goes out. This first step of identifying those two spots already felt empowering. I had control. I want you, not you, not you, you, not you. I got to decide what I wanted in my life, or at least in my closet. And knowing that felt so good. While everything else around me was falling and flying and spinning without my permission, here I was, bossing my clothes around.
As the process continued, I felt lighter and lighter and lighter. Which was funny. I never carried these things on my back. They were there in my closet. Quietly mourning their existence. Why do they feel so heavy then? What I didn’t know was while their bodies were neatly lined inside that box, their ghosts were floating around, following me wherever I went. For every item that I let drop (dramatically, if I may add), I felt a little sigh (those are probably the ghosts) escaping my lips. I let go of all the just-in-case clothes I had. I didn’t have the heart to throw them out before. That felt irresponsible. What if I did eventually need them and they weren’t there? I also let go of the dresses that I thought made me look pretty but does not fit me anymore. I was holding on to the hope that I will lose the weight and wear them again. These two things that I initially couldn’t let go of I kept because I carried two body bags. One contained the bones of my fear of the future and one contained the bones of my Mighty Bond attachment to the comforts of the past. They were always with me. One I had to pull back. One I had to drag forward. I never paid attention to where I stood. I was slowly sinking into the ground.
When I was finished, I counted all the clothes I have left. Not so bad. This might not be very minimalist but I can still live through a month without having to repeat my clothes. But at least now, I love all of the clothes that I have. More importantly, I love what the clothes that I have now represent. Me. At this moment. Right now. They are still of different colors. They are still of different designs. But they have one thing in common. They’re all in my size.