I cleared out my closet last night and let go of a wardrobe amassed for a future hoped for but never lived. Gone are the dresses and heels for a “someday” soiree. Scarves and wraps and sleek black belts – to the Free Table they go. And stockings! Piles of stockings – black and gray and nude and suntan. Thigh-high, knee-high, tummy-controlling bits of wispy dreams. My trash bin overfloweth with ephemera of a wished for life: parties that never happened, promised dates never kept, vacations never taken. Do women even wear stockings anymore?
Sadly I’m releasing people, too, in this summer of loss, and through a refining fire, I am shattered. God builds me anew as I reclaim dignity, embrace self-respect, and find my spine. And so, one-way relationships masquerading as friendship: gone. One-sided marriage: over. Begging to be loved, to be cared for, to be considered by another? Done and done. It hurts and I cry and God catches my tears.
I’ve traded the black patent leather peep-toe pumps that languished in the depths of my closet for Merrell’s Performance Footwear hiking shoes. I’m trekking into my new life.