Control Issues

Once, my necklace did not match the metal of my bag chain and my entire day felt spiritually misaligned.

I don't know if this makes sense, but.... I micro manage my outfits.

Not in a spiraling, fashion crisis way.

In a deeply therapeutic, borderline “this is my kinda meditation” way.

Some people journal.

Some people go for a walk.

I rearrange my necklace three times until the pendant is sitting correctly in between my collar bones (that is my perfect emotional altitude). 

Some people “throw something on”. I, on the other hand, argue with my closet like it's a peace treaty. I am that one girl you know who changes her top because the energy didn't match her earrings. Who adds a jacket, stares into the mirror for precisely 29 seconds, and removes it on the 30th second. Who has a panic attack if one shade of white isn't matching with the other shade of white. Maybe I don’t need therapy, I just neeeed a back up outfit and…. a backup outfit for the backup outfit.

You know how they say, fights bring people closer to each other. Yes, they do, just like they did with me and my closet. Honestly, we still fight, I know I am gonna fight with him tomorrow at 7:00 a.m sharp (I know it's a HIM, because it keeps rage baiting me). But, I can't stop loving him and he can’t stop hating me, cause he never gives me the right pants for my new top (after I bought it thinking it would look good only with those pants). 

Apparently it's not just me, it’s a lot of people. They’re my people, they’re my kinda species.

You know, there is a rhythm in simply adjusting your belt, swapping earrings, lining up the strap of your bag like you are aligning the chakras. 

Some people call it obsessive

I call it character development. 

Everytime I spend an extra three minutes thinking about “why pink feels right on Wednesday?” or “Why some outfits make me stand straighter and think lesser?” I understand myself a little more. And if micro-managing is what makes me feel put together (inside and out), maybe it's not an obsession.

Maybe it’s a love language.

My love language to myself.