grief is a sweater i've outgrown,

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what to write, even for this test post. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure what to talk about. Even as I type this, I’m still not sure if this is a good starting topic.

Last night, I mentally returned to the last argument I had with my ex before finally moving out. At the time, it felt like my present self stood between the version of myself a year ago and my ex.

At that moment, I never thought I could feel so small, helpless, and dependent on someone else to do something—anything. I did not know what to do, and the only course of action was to ask for help.

Yet, what I said only merited ire and disappointment, as if he wanted one specific answer I could never guess.

Over a year has passed, and this feeling remains deep within my bones: a chill like winter’s merciless embrace.

I’ve learned that the grief I’ve experienced for this person feels much like a beloved sweater. A sweater keeps me cozy, offering warmth that has me wearing it for days. This piece of clothing shows evidence it’s been lived in based on the stains, tearing, frayed hems, and loose stitches it carries on its sleeve.

Years later, I eventually outgrow this sweater. I stop wearing it, only for it to live in my closet, tucked away behind forgotten coats worn only a handful of times. It is never given away during a decluttering, with the thought,

"I could see myself wearing this a few more times."

That is merely a lie I tell myself, but I cannot bring myself to accept the real reason I let it survive another decluttering.

I look back on this version of myself and never thought I went through such pain and disillusionment. I barely understood who I was and what I wanted then, often asking myself if I was really happy. I could never reach an answer I would be proud of and was more fixated on what I could do to make other people happy.

I think I am happier now, having found pleasure in being on my own. I acknowledge the many friends I earned in the process who provided space for me to be my authentic self and gave me various outlets to express myself.

That metaphoric sweater still lives somewhere in my closet; I do not really think about it anymore. I think it is safe to say I have other clothes I can wear that represent the same warmth that no longer has to be associated with this person. The way I choose to dress now reflects the joy I feel in being able to express myself fully, without shame.