A Good Decision

I have so many clothes and pairs of shoes and accessories. My entire family has a shopping problem, and some are borderline hoarders, surrounding themselves with things they don’t need or don’t even want for the sake of having stuff. The only reason I’m not a hoarder is that I tend to get rid of things before they can block walking paths in my living space. It’s cathartic for me to get rid of things. Is that why I left? Did I feel like I needed to get rid of every person, place and thing around me?

I wonder if I’ll ever stop questioning my decision to leave absolutely everything this summer. I knew I needed to leave my husband and get the ball rolling on ending our marriage. But I do miss my former job. My former colleagues. My former go-to places to get my hair and nails done. The sense of home and community that came with staying in one place for years. But I left it all so I would be out of his reach. Before we were married, I broke up with him twice and kicked him out of my apartment once. Each time he slowly crept back into my life, with free tickets to something and “can we meet up for coffee” un-dates and scheduling times for him to pick up his mail. I didn’t want to keep doing the same thing.

A few days ago I decided to wear a black skirt with some black pantyhose and new black boots. I remember buying the black skirt during my senior year of college, more than 10 years ago. The 2 roommates who were with me weren’t thrilled about it when I modeled it for them. Whenever a girl tilts her head to the side and says, “Hmm” or “Well…” before giving you her opinion, know that she does not like whatever she is looking at. “Hmm, I don’t know,” one said tentatively. I don’t know what the other one said because I decided in that moment to tune them both out. I didn’t care what they thought. It was a black skirt that flared out just a little, ended just below my knees (I hate my knees), and was made of a material that didn’t wrinkle easily (I hate to iron). I bought it for less than $20 and bounced out of the store, knowing that I had made a good choice. I was confident and content. Over the years, as I have lost weight, I simply tighten the skirt with a pin or let it sit just above my hips. As I have gained weight,I let it sit a little higher and make sure I’m wearing good undergarments to camouflage any lumps or bulges. It is wrinkle free after 5 minutes in the dryer and goes with absolutely every top I own. “You made a good decision,” I said aloud, admiring the garment in the mirro. Before I could thank myself, since I respond when I talk to myself now, I was struck by how odd that sounded. I hadn’t told myself I made a good decision in a long time.

I did not feel confident and content when I started my former job. In fact, I was trying to leave it a few months before I decided to leave my husband. I did not feel excited to get married on my wedding day. I was excited about what I was wearing and the party I was throwing for my friends, but I wasn’t even into him enough to enjoy posing for the standard numerous portraits. I felt nothing close to the elation in Virginia that went through me when I toured my current apartment. Things are hard now not because I screwed up when I decided to leave, but because things are always a little difficult. Divorce is painful and humiliating. Moving to a new city can be confusing and scary. Changing jobs forces you to re-evaluate yourself and your skills, and get to know an entirely different set of colleagues. Adulthood is a lot of paperwork and phone calls and bills, even when things are going great. So why am I blaming myself for the fact that my life isn’t smooth sailing right now? I miss not feeling like a fish out of water, and that’s normal. But I will get to a point where things won’t feel so new anymore. That’s what happened before.

I’ll never know if I made all the right decisions this year. I likely didn’t. But I can do the best I can with what remains from now on, knowing that I am capable of knowing what is best for me at least some of the time. I have a black skirt to prove it.