A long, long time ago, before the pandemic, I made a commitment to stop buying clothes because I was spending too much, didn’t need any more clothes, and was having trouble finding ethical sources.

And I did stop. Since I transitioned from that initial commitment, I’ve almost exclusively purchased only occasional replacements for items that wore out or things I wore all the time and never seemed to have enough of.

Every time I would start to think about buying more clothes, I would realize my hamper was full. As soon as I did the laundry, I found all the clothes that were “missing” from my closet.

What I also did, was start spending the money I had been spending on clothes, on fabric. Buying fabric got me through the pandemic in some ways.

For every yard of fabric I made something with, there were ten or more yards sitting in my sewing room, bought with the best intentions. I started hand sewing a lot of the details, which slowed my output even more (but makes for beautiful clothes!)

I bought patterns, historical accessories, and historical shoes, too. And I’m getting to wear historical outfits now, to hang out with friends and also to events.

But I’ve come to realize that I need to stop throwing fabric into the giant maw of my discontent. I’ve basically run out of places to put it, and all the piles are stressing me out because the amount of fabric living in my sewing room (aka our dining room) makes a mockery of my sewing velocity.

I love to sew, but autoimmune flare-ups and homeschool have almost completely eaten up both my free time and my sewing mojo, and projects get finished very slowly and sometimes, not at all.

So a few weeks ago, I made a commitment: No fabric buying for six months. Sewing projects from the stash only. And I can only buy notions (thread, zippers, buckles) if there is no other way to finish something … AND I am actually poised to be working on the project sometime this century.

I even marked the date on the calendar when it started, and when my time would be up. Not long after that, I was buying clothes again. It started out pretty innocuous – underwear to replace pairs that were falling apart.

But tonight I found myself clicking through a purchase of actual clothes. And after I completed it, I could barely remember what was in my cart. That’s when I know it’s not about the stuff, it’s about the emotional release.

I have developed a number of rules around buying clothes since I mostly stopped buying them, and the limitations serve me well. I’m looking for blacks and earthy neutrals, solid colors, merino wool, linen, and cotton. So far I have stuck with those guardrails, and that feels good.

What doesn’t feel good is that while I know I can fast from a certain type of purchase, I don’t seem to be able to completely stop the impulse spending. That feels gross.

We have a dark humor term in healthcare settings called “circling the drain,” to describe a patient who is steadily going downhill.

It often feels like habits are the same way. We recognize something we don’t like about ourselves, we consciously identify it, and then we trim the hedges all around that part of our brain until the bad habit is a like a secret garden that constantly changes location. Whenever we start manicuring too close to its walls, it shifts a bit – far enough away that its wild brambles are safe from our trimmers once again.

With my “fabric fast” I’ve been reminded that what I’m doing is taking break from spending on a certain category, but the root of the weed is still there. I’ll keep hacking away at it, though. Eventually, maybe I’ll get part of it out of the ground.