Today I made a Big Purchase. It wasn't a residence or a car; I didn't book an expensive vacation; I did not become the owner of any glittering, new jewelry.
I bought a pair of pants.
This was a big deal because when I first started becoming religiously observant four years ago, the first thing I did was trade in my pants for skirts. It was a relatively easy change to make, one I could implement immediately, unlike the complex lifestyle adjustments of keeping Shabbat and maintaining a kosher home. I liked having a visible symbol of my Jewish identity, something I could wear every day that would remind me of this new piece of myself that I was discovering. I enjoyed knowing that, just as I could recognize other observant Jewish people walking down the street, they would now look at me and know that I was also religious. Most of all, I loved rules, and was excited to have a new one to follow: Skirts Only--No Pants.
Even though other aspects of my religious life took long periods of time to develop, this wardrobe shift happened seemingly overnight and quickly became an all-or-nothing, non-negotiable practice. Though I truly felt it was a positively motivated choice, wrapped up in my staunch adherence to the No Pants Policy were many layers of insecurity and perfectionism, along with a strong dose of all-or-nothing thinking. I fell in love with religious Judaism at a time when my identity without my eating disorder was just beginning to take shape. I needed a new place to belong, and Judaism was that place. Insecure about my lack of background knowledge, I felt I should at least look the part so that others would accept me while I was learning. One thing I felt sure of was that person who is trying to join a group cannot afford to break any rules. Was I serious about becoming observant? Was I committed to living a Jewish life in all ways? If the answer to both of those questions was, "yes," then the answer to the question of clothing was clear: No Pants.
As long as I insisted on approaching Judaism with the same sense of rigidity I had applied to my eating disorder, there was never going to be any room for flexibility. Yet, this is what I honestly thought Judaism demanded, until I started meeting women who challenged that notion. There was the time I paid a visit to one of my Modern Orthodox teachers at her home and she answered the door wearing pants. Or the time I went bowling motzei Shabbat with a group of my religious friends, and a bunch of the girls showed up in jeans. At first I thought these were just flukes, but then it kept happening: over and over, I met women who I knew had strong religious identities, who cared about halacha, who were active members of their observant Jewish communities…and who sometimes wore pants.
Mind blown.
After encountering all this hard evidence, I started to feel ready to experiment. The truth is, I enjoy wearing skirts. But sometimes, pants are just easier, like when there's a foot of snow on the ground, or if I'm going hiking, or when it's Sunday and I just want to lounge around. So I started testing out wearing pants…and…nothing happened. I still observe Shabbat; I continue to keep kosher; I still daven every day and learn Torah as often as I can. Wearing the occasional pair of pants doesn't change any of that, but it does make me feel like a more flexible, open-minded human being. It's true that in some circles, observant Judaism IS very black-and-white, and if I wanted to belong there, then pants would always be a no-no. But I've worked hard, in recovery, to learn that a secure identity does not have to be a rigid construction. (I've also learned that the Torah doesn't actually prohibit women from wearing pants, and while some women might take that stringency upon themselves, I can choose to be among the many who don't.) My eating disorder was all about rules, severity, and harsh discipline--and I've worked too hard to move away from that mindset, to go back to it now. I want my Jewish observance to flourish in recovery, to be inspired and genuine and also able to withstand some healthy flexibility.
I once had a recovery mentor who taught me to say, "I don't have to______. I get to _____." Today, as I bought my new jeans, I heard my recovered self say, "I don't have to control my wardrobe with an iron fist. I get to wear what's comfortable." This afternoon, I davened mincha while wearing pants. And it was good.
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