Cleaning out the Closet

27 Days to a Healthy Body Image; Day 2
 I love closets- organized or not, I love the idea of a place for something.  My bedroom closet is the hiding place for Mom's Special Toys (fisher price people toys, a Mandy Doll-- only to be played with under strict adult supervision) a vast collection of adorable shoes and outfits, and mementos from early courtship and marriage.

My bedroom closet is packed full of things organized (I am sad to say) in a slightly haphazard way, but I know where to find things.  My least favorite closet, on the other hand, is a highly organized, efficient storage machine with labeled boxes stacked ceiling high.  Labels are discrete, but I wince seeing each one: Ex. Secretary, Fit for Life '95, Mental Heritage and more.

These boxes are where I have stored a lifetime of hurt, resentment and disappointment.  Tucked away in a closet in my heart they languish unseen and ignored until a fresh hurt prompts me to open wide the closet doors and shove something else in, slamming it shut hard.  Occasionally I "spring clean" and toss aside boxes I no longer wish to store.  Sometimes they stay away, but others inevitably sneak back into the closet in the dead of night.

"Fit for Life '95" keeps coming back.  "'95" stores all the yuck about my body.  I didn't realize I had a problem with my body until '95-- my freshman year at college.  In those days we had to take a class called Fitness for Life; it would help you develop healthy eating and exercising habits.  The first class I was doused with the frigid reality of my body.  The teacher measured our body fat; I was declared obese; I was told to follow a weight loss diet and exercise program that would determine my grade.  I weighed 140 (20 lbs less than now - ouch).  I lost a little weight, toned up, got more fit, but I never left the obese/overweight category.

Me: 35 & Fabulous!

I have carried that since, tucked away in a box.  I am obese, overweight, no matter what I look like.  I can not fit into the doctor's ideal-- I never have-- even when I had a (4 out of) 6-pack.  I am never enough.

I am sure every one has their own story- their own boxes of hurt.  Today's job is to open up that closet and look at all the junk stored.  It will make a mess.  You might cry.  I did.  It might take a while-- but it will be worth it.

Tomorrow we will begin the purge.

Closet Photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kitsa_sakurako/603097582/">Sakurako Kitsa</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/">cc</a>