Part of my healing process includes actively closing doors that could potentially lead to picking up old habits again.
On Easter I threw away three bags of cloths, some of them older than 10 years.
It was a difficult task. I did not cry, but was often on the verge of doing so. I felt like with each shirt, pair of jeans, sweater or skirt I gave up part of myself. I had the impression of throwing half my life away.
Every single piece of clothing was connected to at least one memory, one event, something that made it special to me and definitely worth keeping it.
At the same time - holding on to these cloths would be like leaving a backdoor for my eating disorder open. Why would I need cloths that I wore when I was eleven or twelve?
Thinking about it rationally, it is “sick” to still have the same size as I had 12 years ago.
But isn’t it peculiar – in a good way – that my taste in cloths did not really change in all those years?! You can definitely see my mom’s influence on me in that fact. My mom has a very classical, timeless look and it seems like I adopted that, well, at least in part. I hardly ever went with the trend and wore whatever I liked, instead of what was IN at that time.
My anorexic part of the brain is extremely proud of the fact that I still fit in jeans that I wore 12 years ago. When I look at a picture of myself in front of the MGM Grand in 2001 wearing pants that are way too big now (and I was tiny back then), I can’t help but be thrilled.
However, when I really think about it, I realize that this is a rather sad fact: while every other girl in my class went through puberty and changed into a young woman, I stood still and stayed the same. I did not give my body the chance to develop and do what it is meant to be. I did not allow myself to become a woman and instead just stayed a girl- on the inside and on the outside. I did not allow myself to grow up.
I now know that I did this to protect myself. Growing up means taking control of your life, making your own decisions, standing on your own feet.
But growing up would have meant to deal with my brother, to stand tall against him and to
I wasn’t strong enough at that time to fight him. I did not have the courage to look him in the eye and make it very clear where his boundaries lie. So, I turned all my attention to my weight and my body and I got obsessed with it. It gave me a reason to live, but at the same time it gave me a perfect excuse to just mark time.
But I have had enough. I have the strength now to confront my worst fears and to grow up. I want to be a woman, not a girl anymore. And throwing away most of the cloths that I wore as a child and teenager is a huge step in the right direction.