I think most women do this: you have a favorite outfit or a few pieces of clothing that you just can't bear to get rid of even if they no longer fit. They hang in your closet (or live in a box) until that unspecified time at which you might be able to wear it again. Never mind if it has shoulder pads worthy of a linebacker that went out of style in 1987 - it was something you absolutely loved.
I have a few of those gems still. Clothes that survived multiple moves, Hurricane Charley, and my two-car-load escape from my previous marriage. The first item that I could potentially wear again is a spring dress. It's a black cotton princess-seamed button-front dress, with tiny little red and pink roses on it - almost giving a polka-dot effect. I distinctly remember wearing it when I weighed 265 - a time when a man I was dating came to visit me where I was living in Pacific Grove, CA.
I'm struggling with two major things right now: my perception of myself, and the realization that coming back down through some of these numbers isn't quite the same as being at them on the way up - I've got bigger, wobblier arms than I did back then, and while it's shrinking, I still have a belly that's deflating, rather than completely disappearing.
So what does this have to do with clothes? Quite simply, I'm scared. I want to dig that dress out of the box it's sitting in at the bottom of my office closet, give it a fresh wash, and look absolutely smashing in it. I'm quite fearful that I'll try and put it on, and my arms will look like sausages in the short sleeves, an my belly will stick out weirdly instead of having the fabric flow nicely over it, and the whole thing will make me cry instead of being a happy celebration of wearing a favorite pretty outfit.
So far I keep staring at the closet, but haven't worked up the courage to even open the door.