One-third. This statistic came from a reputable source during a daytime program featuring a gynecologist from a leading medical institution. Understanding this, and realizing that I am part of that dreaded third, one might assume the last thing I would do is clear out my closet—the long-neglected vault of cherished items from the ’80s and ’90s.
This is precisely why the one-third statistic can be so troubling.
My Body is in Flux
I suspect I’m experiencing the early stages of menopause, specifically perimenopause. My body is undergoing unsettling changes—shifts and fluctuations in unexpected areas. The process of sorting through my jeans made this all too evident: some were in the “skinny” size, while others were labeled “I might as well embrace this expansion” size.
I vividly remember purchasing those smaller sizes. The excitement of the fitting room attendant bringing me a size that was smaller than I anticipated, coupled with the sticker shock at the register, is etched in my mind. I made a silent promise: those jeans were too pricey to ever outgrow. Yet, here I was, deliberating whether to keep them or let go of the hope of fitting into them again. With a heavy heart, I added them to the donation pile.
I’m No Longer That Girl
Frustrated with the jeans debacle, I turned my attention to a collection of novelty shirts I had amassed over the years, including a pink Harley-Davidson tank that once flattered my figure perfectly. Time, however, acted like a clumsy plastic surgeon, changing those flattering curves into something unrecognizable. Another item added to the giveaway pile, accompanied by a sigh and a lump in my throat.
Next, I faced my favorite concert T-shirt, which still fit but no longer reflected who I was: “I Heart This Bar.” A catchy tune for a Toby Keith concert, but certainly not suitable for work, church, or PTA meetings. Into the giveaway pile it went.
Breaking this cycle of melancholy was my husband’s cheerful voice, “Wow, that’s quite a large giveaway pile! Great job, honey. Don’t you feel fantastic?” His enthusiasm was met with tears welling in my eyes as I considered tossing a pair of my cherished high heels.
The Male Perspective
According to our home scale, my husband hasn’t fluctuated in weight over the past five years. He still fits into clothes from his younger days when trends were defined by groups like A Flock of Seagulls. Sure, he’s acquired some gray hair, but he hasn’t faced the hormonal rollercoaster that leads to hot flashes or sudden emotional shifts. He certainly wasn’t grappling with the past versions of himself in the same way.
I expressed my frustration with the process of decluttering, explaining that it felt more disheartening than liberating. While he tried to understand, he stumbled on his words, finally asking, “Do you think you’ll ever wear those clothes again?” The question left me teetering on the brink of a perimenopausal crisis, and he wisely retreated from the conversation.
As I continued this process, I found no epiphany about embracing my current self. Perhaps that moment of clarity will come in the later stages of menopause that all women experience.
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Summary
This reflection on decluttering one’s closet during the perimenopausal phase highlights the emotional challenges women face as their bodies change. The process can evoke nostalgia and sadness, making it crucial to approach such tasks with care and understanding.