Every woman’s closet tells a story. Some speak of high-powered executives in search of their inner yogi. Others spin tales about stay at home moms too busy to worry much about their shirt on their backs—and their inner goddesses who still yearn for sparkles and stilettos.
Mine? Tells the story of a woman in search of her identity. A woman who’s tried on many different personas. Someone who’s experimented with more careers than anyone in their 30s has a right to. One who’s tipped the scales at over 200 pounds and walked lightly at 125—and who never once found perfection.
There’s the polka dot business suit lined in hot pink left over from my hot young PR exec days.
The baggy fleece hoodie decorated with St. Bernards wrestling in leaves that I thought hid my plus-sized belly.
The fire-engine red A-line dress with the rhinestone buckle still ready to steal the scene at any formal occasion.
The dowdy purple mock turtleneck that I thought fitting for an Indiana town when I first moved here.
The sweet 50s-style swing dress that I fit into for a brief moment in 2003.
And the 12 pairs of jeans, ranging in attitude from look-at-my-tight-ass to please-God-don’t-look-at-my-butt.
There’s even a maternity skirt or two, still hanging in readiness.
Or at least there was. Because tonight? I bagged it all up to give away. It’s time to find those old personalities new homes—on bodies who will appreciate them.
I know who I am now. Or at least, I’m more sure than I’ve ever been.
I am a wife, a mother, and a writer. I am creative. Inquisitive. Never satisfied.
I like to wear swirly dresses and kicky skirts.
I like color—lots of color—and super cool tights.
I still rock more than my fair share of jeans, but I like to think they all make my ass look good.
I have more curves than I should, but I refuse to apologize for their existence.
I am a Woman. One who’s never been more ready to take on the world. And my wardrobe? Is becoming increasingly reflective of that.
So I waved good bye to those size 6 jeans. Bid my snazzy business suit a fond farewell. Snuggled my maternity skirt close before folding it away.
There’s no room in my life for that tired baggage right now. I’m too busy becoming the person I want to be.