It's date night, and I'm looking for something to wear. Something different. Not one of the six outfits I usually rotate through the Saturday cycle. Something that will make my boyfriend say, Ooh, and something that fools me into believing that things haven't been weird. Over the past ten months, there have been four funerals, umpteen thousand hospital visits, and between the two of us, at least a million and a half sinus infections, so our weekly date night hasn't been very weekly.
I toss a t-shirt to the side, then another. I find two bodysuits. They have long sleeves, but they're also sheer. It's Fall. While the weather is mostly sticky and warm during the day, at night, the temperature can plunge twenty degrees in an hour. The bodysuits are too hard to layer, and impossible to peel off if I get hot. So, I move on to an off the shoulder short sleeve I used to wear with the brown platform sandals I've had for at least two decades. I can't wear that top because my middle has grown, so now it hugs me a little more tightly than I'm comfortable with. These clothes have been around for a while, just like me. They've seen things. We've been through a lot of ups and downs together. My body may have outgrown some of them, but my heart has not.
A flash of white catches the corner of my eye. I pull out a crop top that has spaghetti straps. It's something I bought recently, on a whim. When I bought it, I ignored the voice that said, Don't do it. You're too old for that. Do NOT embarrass yourself. Instead, I listened to the What Ifs: What if you keep exercising and eating right? You've been so consistent. You'll be mad if you get your twenties body back and you don't have it to wear. What if you come back to the store to buy it, and it's too late? What if it's not available anymore?
Get it rid of it. The shift is so sudden, I can't help but look around as if someone else is in the room. It speaks up again. Get rid of it. Get a trash bag and dump the whole drawer in it. Uh oh. The Bottom Lines voice is here. She's the straight guy who means business. She tosses an idea away as soon as she realizes it may not bring me joy. And she does it as casually as if she's taking out the trash on a Tuesday night. She makes "good" decisions. With no regrets. She doesn't take shit from me and the What Ifs voice.
I hold up the crop top. I swear I'm about to fold it and put it in a donation bag. It says Bisous across the front of it. The neck is square cut and high. And while it's cropped, it's not so short that it shows off underboob. It's long enough that only a bit of stomach shows.
That's your style—subtle skin, super sexy! What if you hide your belly with a pair of high rise pants? Wear it, girl! Wear the hell out of it! What Ifs whoops and hollers over the responsibility and maturity that Bottom Lines preaches.
Bottom Lines pushes What Ifs to the floor and puts a foot over her mouth. Don't do it. You'll be self conscious all night. What Ifs pinches Bottom Lines and wriggles free. What if you give it away? That means you're giving up! What if you start wearing frumpy clothes? What if you stop trying to take care of yourself?
Suddenly, both voices go silent. I don't know if I shut them up, but the attention is on me. We're all waiting for me to make a decision. But how can I? This is not just about date night. My brain has spun it enough that now I believe this one decision will shape the rest of my life. Will I rip off my clothes and put the top on? Or will I put it in the donation bag to give away? And what will the decision say about me?
...
That's when it hits me: I hang onto clothes like women hang onto guys who will never change. The hope is the same. The codependency is the same. The inability to go out and find the right fit for the person I am here, now, in this moment—it's all the same.
The crop top falls from my hand. I watch it fall. I can't take my eyes off of it. It winds up hanging from the ledge of the open drawer. It waits for me to decide its fate. If I let it go, will someone better snatch it up? Will it look better and feel better on someone else? Was I never right for it? And if I hold onto it, am I settling for something that never fit properly in the first place? If I don't open myself up, will I ever find something new? Something more fun, more comfortable? Will I never be able to find something I truly love because I didn't make room for it?
My thoughts take me back to the past: He said he's sorry. What if he changes? You've invested so much time in this. Don't give up now. They take me back to decisions that cost me pieces of my soul: Who gets divorced two months into a marriage? You made a commitment. Stick to it or you'll look like an idiot. Everything they think about you will be proven true. And on an on with excuse after excuse about why I should hang in there. No one puts the work in anymore. You're better than that.
It was a long road with plenty of hiccups, but I managed to change my ways with men. I know I should be proud of that. But as I'm getting ready to enjoy a night out with a man who deserves my attention, I realize I never really learned the life lesson. Instead, I transferred my fear of failure to other things.
That fear is present in everything I do, from my inability to release bodies of work without obsessing over them—But what if I don't spend enough time on it and it isn't as good as it could be?—to the level of stress I feel about picking a date night outfit. For a man that took care of me when I was sick. Who has seen me first thing in the morning with last night's makeup smeared across my face and my baby hair sticking straight up on my head. He tells me how beautiful I am in these moments. I know that I could dress in pajamas and sweats and he'd be thrilled. Tonight's stress is not about him. It's about me.
I know that Bottom Lines wants me to quit my problem cold turkey. As if I can just drop them like hot pots burning my hands. And I know that What Ifs wants to always be prepared. Because she won't be wrong if she's covered every angle and perspective. Both voices have their place. They both should get a say. But sometimes they're too loud. And sometimes they're too extreme. And now I've taken too long. They're done waiting for me to decide. I need to get dressed for Date Night. They both tug at me. To convince me that their way is the only way.
The urgency knots my stomach again. And What Ifs is right there, pulling the knots tighter. What if you... Bottom Lines interrupts and hijacks the sentence...toss that shirt...but then they blend into one, a new voice with a new perspective...into a box? With other things that should be out of sight, out of mind. To be evaluated as things to keep or donate at a later time.
I'm listening. Stand up and breathe through this while you go get a box. This voice is gentle but firm. Decisive. Not shrill or mean. It soothes me when I start to overthink. He'll wait for you if you're a little late. I know this is true. I just needed to be reminded. You can fix this. Let's start with getting that shirt away from you. Then we'll get you dressed.
I recognize this voice. Balance. She's always there, in the background, waiting for me to acknowledge her. Without ego or expectation. She's my true self. I've summoned her in my time of need. I've quieted everyone else down enough to hear her. She knows what's best. She knows that the What Ifs and Bottom Lines are not distractions from my path or enemies of my soul. She knows that they're necessary for my growth. They're the components of Balance; without both of them, Balance can't exist. Together, they show me the life lessons I need to learn. Through Balance. Through all the best parts of me. To support me on my journey.
The box is open on the floor next to me. I drop a few things into it while I look for something to wear. It won't all go away in an instant, but every time you catch yourself caught up in this tug of war, stop and think. Take another baby step toward a resolution and you'll feel better. Consistency and patience is key. You can do this. Balance feels like a warm hug. It feels like clarity. It feels right.
Baby steps. Compromise. I reach for two outfits I have worn before. Two outfits that make me feel comfortable, safe, pretty. The same way my boyfriend makes me feel. I pair the top from one outfit with the bottom from the other. They look good together. They feel good together. And I've never worn this combination before. One step at a time. Prove to yourself that if you remove people, ideas, and things that don't suit you,nothing bad will happen. You'll still be whole. You'll still be worthy. You're not a failure. You are enough.
It's date night. Tonight I will dress in confidence and self awareness and love. Not just for the man who is proud to be seen with me no matter how I look, but for myself. For the woman I become every time I make the decision to listen to my true self. I will not pick myself apart out of fear of failure or the unknown. I will be less strict. I will make decisions with love and kindness and patience for myself. And I will do this knowing full well that the next time my boyfriend asks me what I want to eat for dinner, we'll probably both have to take deep breaths after I answer, "I don't know."
CF Winn's blogs have been syndicated on multiple sites including The Masquerade Crew. More posts like these can be found at Humor Outcasts and The Patch where she is a regular contributor.
FOLLOW her on Twitter, Facebook, and CF_Winn on Instagram.
No comments:
Post a Comment