I’ve had this conversation with my mom a few times, and she’s a good person to have it with. When I was a kid, the woman (whom I’m convinced is made of steel) lost more than 80 pounds—and she’s kept it off. She wakes up at 3 a.m. every morning to work out before she heads to work around 5 a.m.
Anyway, I’ve had this conversation with her more than once:
DK: Hey, Mom, how long am I supposed to hold on to clothes once they’re too big for me?
Mom: Well, however long you want to. But you probably shouldn’t get rid of things immediately.
DK: Okay…well…how long did YOU hold on to clothes after they were too big for you?
Mom: I don’t know. A little while. But then I got rid of them.
DK: But how long?
Mom: How determined are you to keep it off?
DK: Uhh…I don’t know. Determined, I guess?
Mom: Then I don’t care! Get rid of it.
So yesterday I had this conversation with her. Again. And this time I decided just to get the clothes out of my closet. It started a while back when I started noticing that my dress pants and most of my jeans started looking absolutely ridiculous on me. I put them in used grocery bags, and just kept them on the floor of my closet. But then more of my clothes started looking stupid. And it was just wasting space that my subletter over the summer could use.
So in the afternoon, I systematically tried on just about everything I own. Some things fit nicer (i.e., a few dresses I had purchased a few years ago, wore a few times, and then stopped because they didn’t fit properly, had gotten too short, etc.), but most things were just too big. Way too big. Pants, jeans, all my summer capris, dresses, sweaters, workout clothes—all of it. I already had a bag in my trunk waiting to be taken to Goodwill. Soon I had two massive and almost overflowing trash bags FULL of clothes I could no longer really wear.
And the thing is, I like getting rid of some clothing on a semi-regular basis. It frees up closet space and makes me be critical of what I’m actually wearing. If I don’t really like something—time to trash it. But I’ve never gotten rid of something without a backup. I mean, once these clothes are actually given away, I will have 0 capris to wear, and really only a pair of skinny jeans that fit properly. No dress pants. No jean skirts. No jersey dresses. And honestly? It’s kind of scary.
I hope to not come off as totally superficial, because it’s not even the fact that I will be completely out of some types of clothing. It’s more the fact that once I no longer have these clothes in my possession, there’s pretty much no looking back. Or if there is, I’m pretty much SOL in the clothing department.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m feeling better than ever, I’m looking better than I have in a long time (not to toot any horns), and I have an amazing support network of friends and ACF family (and biological family, too). Really, there’s no reason why I should be worried. Yet I am. I’ve been in similar positions before. Granted, in the past, I’ve dropped 20, gotten a big head, then gained it all back and then some, but even then, the 20 pounds never made it so that I couldn’t feasibly wear any of my clothes. This time is different. This time, I really can’t wear most of my clothes. ‘Tis a conundrum, indeed.
Some people say that as soon as you shrink out of clothes, you should get rid of them as motivation. I get that. But then at the back of my mind, there’s that little devil just chanting What if? What if? making me nervous to do anything rash.
In the end, I’m pretty sure I’m going to get rid of all these clothes. And I’m also on the right track now, and with a support network like mine, how could I fail?