Each time I got ready for the day, I was seeped in physical reminders of a life that was no longer even though I'd lived many lives in these clothes.
Getting Over a Divorce Meant Saying Goodbye to All My Beautiful Clothes
It took me a year to throw out my wedding dress. Afterward, I laid in bed thinking about my gown in the dumpster in the parking lot of my apartment complex, the dress being doused in Whataburger ketchup, expired milk, and leftovers seeping through a neighbor’s trash bag. It was one of many things I once loved and purged during my COVID divorce.
When I moved into my current apartment in early 2020 after separating from my husband, I brought my whole closet—clothing I wore throughout my ten-year marriage. Most of the stuff still fit, although staring at them added up to regret, disappointment, broken promises. Each time I got ready for the day, I was seeped in physical reminders of a life that was no longer even though I'd lived many lives wearing these clothes: as a model, a memoirist, an indie publisher, a wife, then a mother. Now I was a single mom, aging every day, going through the divorce process and working remotely while running my household that had been cut down to three. To move on, my married-life clothes had to be stuffed in trash bags.
The long black gown I wore when we heard Tony Bennett sing love songs and took the ferry from Manhattan to Staten Island was put in to the bag, along with the pink and tan Ralph Lauren dress and many others I had worn to the New York's Belmont Stakes, cheering for thoroughbreds in intense horse races. The big hats were crammed in the bag too.
The tight dress I wore to eat my first dinner with a then-new man at a high-end steakhouse across from the New York Stock Exchange in Lower Manhattan, back when there was electric lust, and the future seemed exhilarating.
Nice knowing you, Gucci mules.
The black leather zip-up Kenneth Cole dress I'd worn to rooftop bars under heat lamps in the Flatiron district in the winter; a cozy sweater I wore during a weekend getaway to Cape Cod. And then there were the jackets. My warmest Tahari coat with a ruffle collar I had worn when we lived in Battery Park, and the Dana Buchman long duster, both from New York's iconic discount department store Century 21—RIP— bought around the time we got engaged. Then there was the unique red and black wool coat, purchased in China a year and half after we were married.
A light blue button-down I wore during a family vacation in Nantucket while holding my toddler son’s hand, my daughter growing in my belly. A peach striped dress I wore in Central Park holding my daughter as an infant over Memorial Day weekend during a family picnic, the brown and green crochet dress I wore to a pumpkin patch with the kiddos in my early thirties, and all my Christmas family photo attire. The Tommy Bahama dresses, bought to fit the weather after moving to Texas were also placed in the trash bag bound for Goodwill.
The author's actual wedding dress…in the dumpster.
I understand the desire to cleanse yourself of certain belongings after a breakup, but for me it was a very clear “everything must go” mentality. Something Dr. Holly Oxhandler, Associate Dean for Research and Faculty Development and an Associate Professor at Baylor University, said isn't uncommon.
“As we move through and navigate life’s transitions, we may find that what once served us no longer does. Items, practices, habits, and ways of thinking or being that we picked up and leaned on along the way may no longer hold the same meaning or support as they once did.”
Oxhandler says it’s important that we regularly assess which of these to continue to carry and which to let go of in light of our current needs and situations.
A Brooks Brother bag the author let go.
Divorce slices the seams of what was, and I planned to not only change the direction of my life, but also the way I presented myself to the world. My new clothes would be more authentic, of my choosing, from my wallet, and selected to be long term. I no longer wanted trendy tight dresses that exist solely to show my body. I craved comfort, loose fabrics that swayed with grace, light and airy textures, calming to the touch.
At the same time I was chucking the attire that had defined an era, I was achieving financial independence slowly but surely. Some extra cash and cushion money was appealing and select items from my closet and jewelry box went to eBay and I became a regular at UPS store.
I decided to sell three pairs of Gucci shoes I'd hardly worn, and they all went quickly, within weeks. I would mail each box before my morning Zooms or dash to mail packages during my lunch break.
During the next few months, I posted a Brooks Brothers small black tote, it was dainty, with an essence of romance, I’d lightly swing the bag while I walked in the cobblestone streets toward New York's Seaport neighborhood when we lived there, or during strolls in Central Park before dusk when we lived on the East side of Manhattan.
A Tiffany key necklace found a new home thanks to eBay.
The Simon G. diamond and gold earrings and necklace I sold separately. The gold St. John earrings had a vintage charm and took a little longer to sell. The Tiffany sterling silver daisy key pendant with a diamond that hung on 16-inch chain was straight from the flagship Fifth Avenue store, it had worn for one family photo and sold within hours.
I adored my Emilio Pucci vest, it was one of the nicest things I owned, and was still in good condition after a decade of wear, it made me feel like a queen, especially when I half zipped it. I posted photos from all angles. I couldn't wear it again.
When I posted a fitted brown Diane Von Furstenburg dress with buttons, sadness crept in. It was now a little small on me, too tight around the waist. I wore it to book publishing conferences when I sat on panels, and dinners with friends in the Meatpacking District. It was my go-to during the early years of my marriage, classy and a little daring, but it would now be someone else’s treasure to command attention, to make them feel like their best self.
There is only what's ahead of me to count on as I enter the next half of my life. Gone is the silhouette of my twenties, and clothes and bags and jewelry that had traveled with me as I reached the far side of my thirties.
The author's beloved Pucci vest, purged post-divorce.
As Oxhandler explained to me, when we give up things we determine need to go, and feel the emotions that demand to be felt, we intentionally create space in seasons of transition for new opportunities, understandings, ways of being. It clicks when she says we cannot mindfully carry everything we have picked up along the twists and turns of our life’s journey. “Some things need to be set down and we need to be selective of what we continue to carry through each unpromised day we’re given,” she said.
When I started looking to rebuild my closet, I obviously could not afford to replace everything or even shop all the same brands. I have rent, a car payment, phone and internet bills, and two kids to dress on my own, but I occasionally treat myself to a pair of sandals, a colorful skirt, a blouse I can wear a million ways, or a pair of denim shorts, and so far these purchases have made me feel youthful, hopeful and new. To me, they telegraph the idea that my best self is even better.
After letting go of the wardrobe from my past life, the empty hangers allowed a look inward. They permitted me to make choices that bring out the best in me and inspire courage to emerge because I’m dressed now with a new purpose, and more strength than I ever thought I could have.
Isobella Jade is a writer, inspirational speaker, and PR professional. She lives in Texas.
This story originally appeared on: Glamour - Author:Isobella Jade
