When It Doesn’t Fit

I went through my closet this week.

It wasn’t a quick sweep of ripped old T-shirts or leggings with holes in the butt. But the slower kind of cleanse. The kind where you try things on and let yourself feel things.

The memories, the goals, the somedays, and the almosts.

I pulled out the blouses that felt like confidence and the pants that whispered “just ten more pounds.” The dresses I kept because just maybe they’d fit again someday, even when someday kept moving further away. The jeans that hugged my curves just so, when my curves weren’t so curvy a few pregnancies ago.

My body has changed. In my 30s, after babies, with life.

Letting go of these clothes was not just about space—in my closest and dresser drawers—it was about the space to feel acceptance of the woman I am right now. It was about shedding younger versions of myself that I’ve outgrown. It was about making room for myself just as I am, not the one I thought I’d still be after years and babies and hormonal changes and life events.

It was emotional. It was freeing. It was painful. It was cathartic. It was grief and it was a whole lot of grace.

So this is a love letter to myself—and to you as you experiences new stages and styles. Cheers to what still fits, not just in fabrics and fibers, but in spirit and self-love. Here is to our softness, our stories, and our strengths.

Our bodies tell our stories. And I’m listening.