Maybe a Polka Dot Sweater Will Fix This
how new clothes might not be the answer to the frustrations at hand
I’m in a cycle where on some level, I believe that if I can find the perfect outfit that I will stop struggling.
Spoiler Alert: such a thing does not exist.
Typically when this trend crops up in my life, it’s a sign to leave a job that I’m white knuckling to make work. I’ve been convinced that the right blazer or ideal travel ensemble will erase the rest of what makes a position miserable. It has not.
But there’s no two weeks notice that I get to submit for my everyday life or strain of disability. (Yeah, I’m calling it that.) Repairing an overwrought nervous system so that it no longer defaults to paralysis takes time. There are moments of huge strides and notable wins mixed with seasons of isolation, trapped in bed able only to stare out the window into the woods. The flip can switch from one to another with no notice.
Somewhere in there, I return to my loop of outfit sourcing, hoping that the perfect sweatsuit combo or cashmere sweater will lift the heaviness.
The irony is that this search tends to result in more work on my end. Parcels to return. A shelf spot to be found. Laundry to wash. The ridiculously laborious activity of actually trying on the item(s). And there are moments that it works, but mostly it’s me clinging to a sense of escape.
Because what’s really afoot is a desire to return to a life I once knew. It’s not that I want to rewind the clock back to before this whole mess. Rather, I want to recapture the aspects of my former self that make me feel like me. Like the erosion on the shoreline of Lake Michigan, the tree is still there yet the entire surrounding changed in an instant as it slid down the hill toward the lake.
Pretend I found a photo of this. I didn’t have one on hand.
I’m still me. But I’m not.
So each day means reinvention. It means reclaiming the previous parts that I still want and exploring new aspects of myself that I’m only now discovering.
What’s more is that there’s this invisible ticking clock that feels like it’s going to count down to zero at any moment, heralding that I’ve missed my life. There are certainly times when lying motionless in bed unable to wiggle a finger much less speak certainly doesn’t feel like living.
What it all comes down to is wanting a body that I do not currently have, namely one that consistently works.
No sweater, no matter how cute, is going to do that.
[shuffles off to return another package]
But here’s the thing — there is a powerful connection between the internal and the external. A swipe of red lipstick or the donning of your favorite earrings can profoundly shift your day. Tidying up the stack of papers strewn across your desk can resolve the merry-go-round of thoughts having their own little carnival in your head. Fresh sheets and a neatly made bed transforms a room and offers at least the tiniest bit of inner relief. And oh!! The vacuum! It changes everything.
I’m constantly in awe of all of this.
Package Jenga™ is not that. When my energy is flowing smoothly, I feel confidence in even my schlubbiest clothes. (The dictionary tells me this isn’t a word, but really it should be so we’re using it.) It’s the connection to my inner vitality that makes the difference. As I tape up yet another box to return, this is what I often remember. But! But! But! That exercise acts as the very thing that reminds me.
Sometimes I need to try on three more outfits to determine that more clothing is not the ultimate fix for these circumstances. It’s the feedback mechanism I require to get me out of my energetic trance. The rejection of something shifts things just enough.
Beating myself up over the act of searching for answers at the bottom of a freshly delivered package gains me nothing. What I will do is try to remember this outcome before I hit purchase. Maybe it will help that now it’s written down. We shall see.
