OverFlow: "Spring Cleaning" Clothes and Skipping the Storage Bin Purgatory
What no one tells you about being on Ozempic is that weight loss still does creep up on you—and that affects your relationship with your clothing.
OverFlow is what happens when I overthink, overflow, and over-everything. When my feelings have nowhere to go, I write about them.
I went through my clothes last weekend and broke down crying. What no one tells you about being on Ozempic is that weight loss still does creep up on you—and that affects your relationship with your clothing.
Wearing Plus-Sized Clothes
As someone who's been "plus-sized" forever—don't get me started on that term; I hate it—I spent most of my life not really liking my clothes. Most of what was in my closet growing up was there because I fit into them. That was it! I didn't go shopping for clothes, picking what I liked aimlessly. I chose clothes that looked like I could fit into them—no matter their design, color, pattern, or style.
When we moved to the U.S., I left behind many of my clothes, which was easy for me to do. I didn't have strong feelings about many of my clothes. But the clothes I brought were the precious few I treasured. Among them were four pairs of patterned leggings my aunt bought for me during a trip to San Francisco in 2016.
I wore those leggings everywhere—from the last days of my dream job at Amplify.ph to the first days in the apartment we live in now. It's not even that they were pretty or flattering. They fit me perfectly and were bought for me because I wanted them specifically. It was probably the first time I felt grateful for new clothes given to me and liked them at the same time—apart from when I had dresses made for myself.
Grieving the Loss of My Favorite Leggings
When it was time to put those leggings in the trash can, I couldn't do it. Even as I set them aside, I started crying. It felt like real, palpable grief—like saying goodbye to a loved one forever. I put one on and wore it awkwardly as I finished going through the rest of my clothes. That didn't help make me feel better. It only worsened things because it highlighted that they don't fit me anymore.
I can't wear them even at home, even to sleep. I've already thanked them for the memories I've made wearing them. I can clearly remember memories wearing them—from saying goodbye to loved ones in the Philippines to developing my walking habit for the first time when we moved to Vegas to constantly sleeping as I recovered from my stroke back in 2021.
They still spark joy and are still in my clean laundry basket—because I was firm with myself and stuck to the rule that I wouldn't keep clothes in storage "for when I get fat again." That kind of thinking goes against manifesting the best, healthiest, happiest life for me.
Moving Onto My New Reality
I still wonder what I'll do with these leggings. Maybe I can look for the same patterns and buy them in my size. After all, that started this whole spring cleaning process—I bought new underwear to throw away the old ones that don't fit me anymore.
People will probably wonder why throwing away clothes that remind me of when I was fat is difficult. But these leggings are more than that. And being fat was more than just a burden to my health—it was who I was, and I miss being that person more than I'd like to admit.
It's no longer a new realization, I know. I've written about this before. I'm not really grieving the loss of my favorite leggings. I'm mourning the death of the person I used to be. And that may take a lot longer than any other grief I've ever felt in my life.
Photo by Markus Winkler on Unsplash
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