One-third. I caught this intriguing statistic on a daytime talk show featuring a women’s health expert from a top hospital. It must be true, right? Armed with this knowledge—and aware that I’m definitely residing somewhere in that dreaded third—you’d think the last thing I’d want to do is declutter my closet, which is practically a shrine to my beloved ’80s and ’90s fashion.
Yet, this one-third statistic complicates things a bit.
My Body Is on a Rollercoaster
I believe I’m in the initial phase of menopause, specifically perimenopause. My body feels like it’s been through a bizarre transformation. Everything’s shifting; some areas are flattening while others are bulging in unexpected places. The great “Jeans Purge” made this painfully clear: I had some pairs labeled “skinny” and others that screamed “I’m just going to expand, no big deal.”
I distinctly remember purchasing those skinny jeans. From the fitting room clerk cheering me on as I realized I needed a smaller size to the moment of shock when the cashier rang up my total. It plays in my mind like a nostalgic film, alongside my silent promise: These jeans are way too pricey to outgrow!
But there I was, somewhere in the first or second third of menopause, contemplating whether it was time to toss those jeans—or, more importantly, the hope of fitting into them again. With a heavy heart, I added them to the giveaway pile.
I’m Not That Girl—Or a Girl—Anymore
Frustrated with my jeans dilemma, I turned my attention to a collection of novelty shirts I’d amassed over the years. Take my pink Harley-Davidson tank top, which once looked fabulous on me. Somehow, time acted like a clumsy plastic surgeon, filling in the right places all wrong.
Another casualty for the giveaway pile. Another sigh. Another lump in my throat.
Next, I tackled my favorite concert T-shirt. It still fit, but the vibe was all wrong: “I Heart This Bar.” Sure, it was a hit at the Toby Keith concert, but it doesn’t exactly scream “professional” or “PTA meeting.”
Yet, I added it to the giveaway pile too.
Breaking the somber rhythm, my husband chimed in, “Wow, that’s quite the giveaway pile! Good for you! Don’t you feel great?” His innocent enthusiasm made tears well up in my eyes, just as I was about to toss a pair of stylish pumps into the realm of lost hopes.
Men Just Don’t Get It
According to the Wii Fit, my husband’s weight has been steady for five years. Five years! He still fits into clothes from an era when A Flock of Seagulls was topping the charts. Sure, he’s got some gray hairs, but his hypothalamus hasn’t left him chasing words mid-sentence due to a sudden hot flash. His waistline hasn’t turned into a runaway train.
Unlike me, he wasn’t tossing away memories of what he once was or aspired to be.
I tried to explain the emotional toll this was taking on me. It wasn’t liberating or cleansing; it was just disappointing. He listened but didn’t quite know how to respond. Eventually, he muttered something and made himself scarce—clearly not wanting to be in the line of fire of my impending meltdown.
As for me? No moments of profound self-acceptance sparked from this closet cleaning. Perhaps that epiphany will arrive somewhere in the later stages of the menopause journey we all endure.
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Summary
Cleaning out your closet can be a tough emotional journey, especially while navigating the changes of perimenopause. The process can uncover feelings of loss and nostalgia, as we confront not only outdated clothing but also our evolving identities. While the act of decluttering may seem liberating, it can also lead to moments of reflection and realization about our self-image and acceptance.