Cleaning out my closet

Last week I wrote about my niece coming over and helping me clean out my closet. What I didn't write about was just how painful that experience was. Oh my, it hurt.
Having my niece help me wasn't the painful part, the actual act of getting rid of my stuff was. Like most other girls, I love clothes, I want clothes, and I need clothes. Husband, being a guy, doesn't understand why I need more than one pair of jeans, one pair of khakis, a skirt, and a couple of shirts. Nor does he understand why I need several pairs of colorful tennis shoes or several different pairs of flip flops, as well as sandals. I can't even remember all the fights we've had over the number of bags I need. I'm not lying. They usually start with Husband saying something like, "Why do you need so many bags? Isn't one enough?" and end with me getting completely exasperated over having to explain-again-why having options in terms of bags is important. Plus, most of my clothes have some sort of emotional attachment. But the closets in the house where I think we will be living are very, very tiny, tiny to the point of almost non-existent, so I knew I had to be tough.
I tried to look at my closet as though my clothes were, at best, neutral to me, and at worst, someone who had caused me great pain. I thought that would make it easier to get rid of them. I was so ready to do part with my clothes, shoes, bags, and hats. I expected to have an Oprah-like moment of clarity and simplicity. Then my niece started pulling things out of the closet. A sarong my dad brought me back from Cambodia. True, it's about 18 inches too long for me to ever wear, but it's beautiful, royal blue with gold and pink detailing. And it's the thought that counts. My bridesmaid's dress from Caroline's wedding, a brown, strapless, classic-looking dress that can be worn to cocktail parties for years to come. Except I don't go to cocktail parties, and I'm guessing I'll never be the girl who does. Both went into the Goodwill (i.e. dress-up clothes for niece) pile, and I started to feel a bit of pain. Maternity clothes were easy to get rid of, as I am not planning to have another child, at least not via pregnancy and c-section. I kept the ones that pass for normal people clothes because they look like normal people clothes, only they're 100x more comfortable. I got rid of clothes that had a 2 on them, because, really, who am I kidding? Then my niece pulled out polos and other shirts from when I was a skinnier girl, and I sighed and told her to donate them. Which she did. To herself. I almost shed tears when she showed me a pair of corduroys. I asked her to check to see if there was a hole in the butt. There was. I explained that although they were my very favorite pair of pants ever and I loved them more than any other pants ever, they would have to be given away because I am no longer going to wear clothes with holes in the butt. She claimed them, because, "you loved them so much, Aunt Grace." Then came the shoes. The first, and most painful casualty were my red boots. Caroline and Leighann were very surprised that my red boots ended up in the giveaway pile. I bought those boots at a Sketchers store in New York, and I wore them all through grad school, even when clunky boots exited the fashion scene and pointy toed boots made their debut. I wore them my first two years of teaching. I wore them once last year, when I was pregnant, finally deciding that I can't be a pregnant teacher and wear those boots. Then, I decided I probably shouldn't be a teacher who wears clunky red boots if I want to be pain-free at the end of the day.
When the giving away got too painful, we took a break. During the break, we sent my niece downstairs to get Baby's bag. She asked what it looked like, and we told her it was a black bag. She yelled up, "But there are so many black bags!" Husband looked at me and quietly said, "I have no fucking comment on that." I laughed, rather than try to explain-again-why it's important to have more than one black bag.
This closet cleaning was horribly painful, but I'm proud of the effort I made, and I'm glad some of my more beloved items went to a good home. My clothes now fit in maybe four crates and a suitcase. I may have less than 15 pairs of shoes now. Since I'm not done packing for the move, I may end up giving away even more stuff once I do some laundry. Not bags, though. I am definitely keeping my bags.