NNow that winter has arrived, with its icy winds and dark nights starting in the afternoon, I find myself reaching more and more for a certain sweater that used to be loose-fitting and is now anything but. When I took it out of the washing machine and realized that it should never have been in there in the first place – and that it therefore looked like something my toddler might wear – I felt angry and disappointed with myself for my mistake. But this quickly turned to elation when, after stretching it a bit, I not only discovered that it still fit, but that it fit like a glove.
Shrinking transforms the fabric. Previously a lightweight spring number, the sweater has evolved into a tightly woven thermal style top that keeps me nice and warm, doesn’t let air in or out and has very little give, like a wool wetsuit. I am insensitive to the cold – I don’t even need a coat. When you wear it, it feels like you’re getting a big hug, and that’s exactly what I want in these dark days. The only problem is that sometimes the neck seems so tight that I feel like I can’t breathe.
But what on earth does this have to do with building a better life, you may be thinking?
Sometimes a shrunken sweater isn’t just a shrunken sweater. Sometimes we all look for a protective outer layer that feels comfortable and reassuring because it is impenetrable. We unconsciously believe that this psycho-emotional heat will protect us from the cold, darkness and rejection that threaten to come from other people and, perhaps even more frightening, from within. It feels safe and warm within this protective force field – but the reality is that, in some fundamental way that has nothing to do with oxygen, we cannot breathe. We may feel relieved to be at a distance from others who might reject us, but we may also feel unable to connect with others who can offer us love, care, and attention. And we may find ourselves unable to love them back.
Whether the darkness and cold are the result of the outside climate or our own internal weather, the temptation to complete everything in detail should be considered. If we wear too many thick layers, we’ll end up in a hot, sweaty mess; If we give in to the instinct to hibernate, barricade the doors, avoid the office party, and do nothing but watch movies and eat chocolate for months, we may find ourselves never wanting to leave the house again. And if our response to heartbreak – whether romantic or platonic – is to never let anyone in, and to keep everyone else at a safe distance where they can’t hurt us, we risk a loneliness that is even more painful and much harder to get out. then a breakup.
I often wonder about the psychological and emotional significance of wearing clothes that stick: skinny jeans, form-fitting T-shirts, and Kim Kardashian’s Skims shapewear. I think it’s not just about how these clothes make us look, but also about how we want to feel inside. Deep down we crave a sense of emotional control, but this kind of psychological skin cannot be ordered online. When we miss feeling safe with boundaries, safe within ourselves – unable to find meaning in our emotions and thoughts, but constantly feeling overwhelmed by them – we may instead seek a safe physical container. One thing I have noticed is that the deeper I have delved into psychoanalysis, the looser my clothes have become. Slim fit instead of skinny. A little more room to breathe.
You could say these changes have come about because fashion has evolved, I’ve gotten older and my style has changed for other reasons – a natural progression from skinny jeans to mom jeans. I’m sure that’s true too. In my analysis, part of growing up meant being able to keep in mind that many different things can be true at the same time. But I also think that because my analyst has offered me a different kind of containment, and because my own psychic skin has become more robust as a result, I have less need to look for it in my wardrobe.
This brings me back to my shrunken sweater, which I continue to wear despite the suffocating neck. It’s comfortable and uncomfortable – just like those old skinny jeans. It could be that I cling to it so tightly because I can’t bear the loss of a beloved sweater damaged by my own hand. That’s the point of building a better life and a more comfortable wardrobe (and exhaling): you have to learn to let go.
Moya Sarner is an NHS psychotherapist and author of When I grow up – Conversations with adults in search of adulthood