Sometimes around the unit things fall into a sort of sync that is what I can only imagine having a whole houseful of sisters feels like. Games are played, secrets are shared, clothes are handed down, hair is styled, and comfort with understanding is doled out on an as needed basis. It was gorgeous out all weekend. We really couldn’t have asked for better through the 3 day hiatus from groups and meetings and, with the great weather, came high spirits and a not always apparent sense of comraderie.Elle, getting ready to leave in a few days and dealing with her own troubles surrounding that, got the shoulders she needed to lean on and some friends to panel as sounding boards. A nail-painting party ensued during a lull on the bright Sunday afternoon. A multi-player game of scrabble roared into competitive action on one side of the room after the day’s visitors had gone. It was busy. Busy in a calmly balanced sort of way.
The best thing, for me, to come out of the weekend was the great clothes swap of Labor Day morning. Each of us here struggles with body image in one way or another. Its more or less a multifaceted battle that creates conflicts on a daily basis. within the confines of such tumultuous inner struggle thats different for every person it is hard to find the solace needed to break away. Mirrors become gateways to depression, the clothes that once were so a part of us become the enemy, and the practice of body comparisons morphs into a second nature. Its hard to fare and hold our own when we each have such distorted views of ourselves that are apparent to our eyes alone. Its a hard beast to keep on a leash, this negative body image issue.
The great clothes swap started just after breakfast with a knock on the bathroom passageway door from Elle. I had been feeling somewhat crummy (thats putting it lightly) about the small amount of clothing items I had shown up with. This was purely to do with how they now fit on me even though I had attempted to bring things that could “grow with me”. Shirts were awkward and tight in places they hadn’t been before, pants required a little squirming to pull up, and all of it had been making me self-conscious enough to wheedle my wearable wardrobe down to just two outfits. I wasn’t thrilled.
When I opened the door for Elle I was surprised at the large stack of clothes in her arms. It was all items she knew she wasn’t going to wear anymore and we stood together, sifting through them on my bed, as I got first pick. I sorted out what I liked and tried on what I could. Keeping what worked for me in one pile I sorted through my own clothes to add to the donation heap before it got shifted off to Amy who was next in line. This went on through most of the girls on the unit, the clothes pile decreasing and then growing again to varying degrees. In the end, each of us getting a few new items, we all had new wardrobes that held articles we could actually feel good in.
By the time it was all over I wound up with 4 new pairs of pants, 5 new shirts, and a good new attitude as to my appearance. Elle didn’t take anything new, because she already had so much, but she got to see her clothes find loving new homes. In turn I gave away the pair of jeans I had arrived in and they wound up looking great on Brynn who, being orthodox, had never owed any denim. In this fashion the cycle went on and, at the end of the day, it seemed that the overall self-esteem of the unit had risen a few notches. Its back to routine tomorrow but at least we’ll all be comfortably happy in our new attire.
Sockhop 