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<\/p>\nStaring into my wardrobe after another impulse shopping spree, under the guise of self-care, I spotted a pair of peach kitten-heel slides I had never worn.<\/p>\n
In there, alongside other never-worn\u200b\u200b clothes, I noticed an unused set of dumbbells and several cookbooks I had purchased four years ago.<\/p>\n
I had bought these things because I believed they reflected who I was; someone elegant and fashion-forward. Someone effortlessly flawless, as if she had stepped out from a magazine \u2014 never mind the effort it took in reality.\u00a0<\/p>\n
She wore dresses, especially trending ones, had perfect skin, loved cooking and was fit.<\/p>\n
A thought that had been lingering in the back of my mind surfaced: “When?” When was I going to turn my fantasy version of myself into a reality.<\/p>\n
I am a woman of comfort and convenience<\/p>\n
I realised I couldn’t answer that question. Well, actually, I realised I could, but the answer was I was never going to.<\/p>\n
This drive to be elegant, fit, perfect is, in part, a desire to be seen beyond my disability. My disability has always done two things at once: make me stand out in a room of people, and at the same time, make me invisible as a participant of society.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Vanessa Mbeve has embraced the fact that when it comes to fashion, she is a woman of comfort and convenience. (Supplied: Vanessa Mbeve)<\/p>\n
These “qualities” I imagined myself having felt like things that would make me less disabled and less invisible.<\/p>\n
There’s just one problem. I am none of those things. I am a woman of comfort and convenience.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I prefer my T-shirts cheap rather than exclusive, because I can throw them in the washing machine instead of arranging a date with a dry cleaner.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I’d rather walk 20 kilometres through a nature reserve or along the beach than be in a gym. I cook based on my mood, not what might tickle everybody’s taste buds.<\/p>\n
I decided that much of what was filling my wardrobe had to go. Most of the things I had accumulated were based on a fantasy me, living a fantasy life and rather than waiting for that to happen, I wanted to be living my real life now.<\/p>\n
I decided to do something I had learnt from Marie Kondo: sort my wardrobe into what brought me joy and what didn’t.<\/p>\n
Letting go became easier<\/p>\n
It was easier said than done. I bought things because I thought they would bring me joy \u2014 even the things I had never worn, read or used.<\/p>\n
For every two things I let go of, there were three I wanted to hold onto, like my gym clothes, ‘just in case’ I suddenly became someone who goes to the gym. But eventually I admitted to myself that I’d been holding onto that fantasy for five years.<\/p>\n
If I truly intended to pursue this fitter, cooler and more perfect version of me, I would have acted by now.<\/p>\n
That’s how I learnt to separate real joy from fantasy joy: I looked at what I actually did, not what I imagined myself doing. Once I accepted that, letting go became much easier.<\/p>\n
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Vanessa Mbeve now feels free of the lust to be “seen” with her fashion choices. (Supplied: Vanessa Mbeve)<\/p>\n
I donated many items, such as my dresses and shoes, to the Salvation Army.<\/p>\n
I also listed some pieces online and used the $200 I earned to help pay off my credit card.<\/p>\n
Through this process I felt a huge weight of self-imposed pressure shift off my shoulders.<\/p>\n
Instead of striving for something unattainable and racking up new debt, I could simply be myself. The self that comes out when nobody is watching. The self that doesn’t need external validation and is content with what is.<\/p>\n
Learning to know and love my true self<\/p>\n
My self-expression now feels free of the lust to be “seen”. I’ve learnt that my real self is revealed in the habits I repeat every day, 365 days a year.<\/p>\n