There I stood, hovering over the kitchen trash can with my foot on the pedal to keep the lid open. I dangled 5 bras into the trash by their straps, almost like I was taunting them and daring them to fight back. Making the choice to throw them away wasn’t an easy thing to do. I may have even let out a few winces through gritted teeth while I stood at the trash can. My mind flooded with questions that caused me to hesitate. I made sure to process each question carefully with a logical response, understanding that this was just a panic reaction and would be fleeting.
Are you sure you don’t want to just keep them in case of emergencies? What if your new bras are in the hamper?
They don’t fit me properly and I feel uncomfortable in them. They don’t look flattering under my clothing because they aren’t fitting right. I wouldn’t want to use them as a backup because I would be very uncomfortable. If I’m in a pinch, I’m better off in a sports bra, or actually remembering to wash the ones that fit.
What if you end up losing a lot of weight and becoming that bra size again? You just never know! And bras are expensive!
I can’t plan for every hypothetical situation that may arise. I don’t want to have a separate wardrobe meant for various ways my body could change in the future. It would be taking up space in my house that could be better used for something relevant to my current life. Also, those bras are old, and the elastic would be shot by the time that hypothetical scenario were ever to roll around.
Well, why throw them in the trash instead of donating them? You spent a lot of money on them at the time. Maybe they could be useful for someone else.
Again, because they are really old and worn, they are not an ideal item for donation. Just because I spent a lot of money on something doesn’t mean someone else wants it–especially after it’s been worn a long time. The bras would likely be sent to a landfill even if I did donate them.
I have found that it helps to answer these reactions in a thoughtful manner, because it alleviates that feeling of regret or remorse about letting go. And with those questions answered, I released my grip and let the bras fall into the trash. Then, I made a gin & tonic and threw an expired lime in the trash. Nope, no going back now. They have a paper towel and a moldy lime on top of them. They’re officially part of the trash. I really do hate the idea of waste, which is the other reason it was hard to let go, so I also made a note to find a trusted resource for textile recycling, so that I have more options for how to get rid of future clothing (both for myself and my clients).
So, what was the catalyst for all this? After finally admitting that I was constantly uncomfortable and fidgety in my existing bras, I bought an entire replacement set today in the correct size. It was expensive to replace everything all at once. I forgot how expensive bras are. Then again, I haven’t bought more than 2 bras in the last decade, so what would have been a slower investment for most people with a few bras at a time was an all-at-once investment for me.
There was a deeper psychological aspect to the bra ordeal besides being willing to let go of the physical items. I also had to come to terms with the fact that my bra size had changed. I have worn the same bra size for my entire adult life. When I was 18, I worked in the lingerie section of a department store, so I felt confident at the time that I had measured myself correctly and officially. From that point on, I had ingrained into my mind that 36C was my “forever size.” This decision, of course, does not account for weight loss and gain. I guess along the way, I’ve just dealt with the effects of both sides of the weight flux spectrum, while stubbornly remaining in the same size. Sometimes they’re too loose, sometimes too tight. But after all, this is MY size. Something changed recently, however. Maybe it’s just because 40-something me cares more about comfort above all else. Maybe it’s because I was tired of fussing with my clothes and feeling distracted by it. Whatever the reason, I knew I needed to change something. So I described my issues to the sales lady at Dillards, tried on about 40 bras, and walked out as a size I never imagined I would be. It seems like it shouldn’t be a big deal, but it was a label in my life that I never knew had any ego behind it until now.
I was a tomboy growing up. I wanted to follow my older brother around the neighborhood and play whatever sports he was playing with my dad, or tag along with his friends. I was obsessed with basketball and wanted to be like Michael Jordan. Being “chesty” or “voluptuous” did not fit into the person I was when I actually rather suddenly received such a figure from mother nature. It changed how I felt about sports, and it changed how other people interacted with me. Starting in 8th grade, I wore enormous mens’ shirts to cover up my figure. I actually allowed my friends to give me a nickname related to my breasts because I figured if we could all make a joke of them together, at least they would serve a useful purpose in my life. I felt resentful and used to joke to my smaller-chested friends that I would happily give them any amount of boobs they complained they were missing. Eventually, I embraced the feminine aspect of my personality and along that journey I learned to love my body as a result. I thought to myself, “A 36C is fairly average. It’s on the bigger side, but nothing crazy. It still means size Medium tops and cute little dainty bras.” It felt like a manageable size in my mind –something that I could accept. Walking into that department store as a 36C and walking out as a 34DD made me feel like I was on the verge of an existential crisis. A 34DD in my mind was….not cute and dainty. It was 100% full-figured. It was a future of minimizer bras and the ones that come in boxes that look like armor and elderly women buy them 15 at a time.
My ego suffered a massive blow from the vanity of a size label. I had no idea that so much of a coping mechanism was embedded into remaining that bra size indefinitely. It had become a numerical code that defined me. I think about the unexpected ways this change affected me today, but then I think about the positive side, which in every way surpasses the initial vanity reasons. I now have a whole set of bras that will hopefully be so comfortable to wear that I don’t spend time even thinking about boobs. I won’t be tugging at my clothes or making sure I’m not having a wardrobe malfunction of some kind. Having bras that fit properly will actually improve my confidence. When it really comes down to it, I care more about being comfortable and confident in my own skin than about the size on a label. But first, I had to unpack a lot of feelings in order to fully let go. Not only was I throwing away bras, but I was throwing away a size that was familiar to me.
Letting go is not always an easy thing to do. It can happen in small steps as you process the questions and the emotions. It can be a lot like peeling back an onion–the closer you get to the reasons you are holding on, the more it makes you cry. But once you dig deep enough to the root of why you are attached, you can begin the process of deciding if your life might be okay without it–and in some cases, maybe even a little better.
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