"Allowing myself to say goodbye to my rain boots gave me the farewell I needed from my ex. Listing that top online let me know that it’s okay to not be the same person I was six months ago."
Fact: I’m a closet hoarder. A hoarder of vintage Levi’s, slightly oversized baseball tees, and pocket-clad ensembles reminiscent of the 3rd grade art teacher we all wish we had. Some would consider it a problem. I personally, defensively, would call it a practical form of expression, but when I looked at my overflowing closet in March, the distended cramped hangers pointed to the error of my ways.
While I was blessed with a family of women who understand the importance of a good outfit, it came with baggage. Some of my happiest memories revolve around the revolving doors of those Main Street shops in Ventura with my mom and my Meme. My grandmother was a filipino force to be reckoned with: a 4’11 (and ¾ inches, as she would make sure to add) bombshell who I consider to be the most fabulous human being to ever walk this Earth. Her quiet strength, I would learn later, was a necessary mask. As a single mother of four girls, she had to find small ways to cover the uglier pieces of a not-so-shiny reality. My mother learned to turn to retail therapy from her mother, and she in turn taught me. She taught me that joy can be had–and at a discount. She showed me the joy that spans an entire day spent sorting through someone’s memories in cotton and wire racks, sometimes as a means of escape from my own.
I’ve been collecting clothing and memories and versions of myself for years, too afraid to let go of anything. Too afraid that if I let something go, I’ll be overcome with inevitable regret. Too afraid that pieces of me are woven, stitch by stitch, into outfits that rarely leave the hanger if I’m being honest with myself. Or worse, constantly running back to outfits to don a “designer” version of myself in the hopes that it would get me through a constant imposter syndrome. My social and professional calendar was filled with opportunities to feel inadequate. I needed the outside NOT to reflect the inside, an inside that was unsure I made the cut. The self-sabotage was real, and the imposter syndrome was heavier than the full length coat I kept incorporating, because I thought it made me look more “put together"–like I belonged. Like I was invited. Like I am qualified to participate in this life, thank you very much. I constantly found myself dressing the part instead of wearing my own merit with pride. I didn’t need an Instagram filter to hide my flaws, I had curated my own and they were hanging in my closet. I needed to take inventory of my closet and myself.
Now that we have time to slow down, I was reminded of the plethora of social marketplace apps that shook me from my clothing (and some of my complexes). A few wine induced quarantine reflections pointed out how much space I give to things that don’t fit the person I hope to be now. Within a few months, I’ve realized that I haven’t been hoarding sweaters and scarves. I’ve been hoarding self doubt and a fear of failure. What are the major benefits of using an app like Poshmark? The ability to box up things that take up valuable room in my life and make room for something better. To get paid for investing in the best version of myself.
Like many, I knew of the reselling app, Poshmark, but never took the leap to sell. Now, with each piece sold, I feel like I’m finally allowing myself to embrace new opportunities and shed layers I have outgrown, getting rid of all the things that no longer suit me. Selling my new and unused clothing gives me strength to take risks: the risk of closing one door and the faith that another will open. Why hold onto rain boots from my ex that I never really liked? Deep down I was clinging to the idea of closure from a relationship that no longer benefits me.
Poshmark offered me a cleanse: a cleansing of my closet, my space and most importantly, myself. Allowing myself to say goodbye to my rain boots gave me the farewell I needed from my ex. Listing that top online let me know that it’s okay to not be the same person I was six months ago. In a time of yet another existential crisis, Poshmark helped me sort out who I am. Now, with room in my closet and fear banished from my mind, I can take steps to who I want to be next.
Meet the Family
English teacher working in South LA. Only thing on the agenda is working toward a better tomorrow. I believe that reading is an act of rebellion and the only one that can tell your story is you. Master of discussing universal themes, now I want to write them. Classroom and life mantra, “don’t be sorry, just be better”