you'll look like a photograph of yourself

This past weekend, I did something very out of character for me.

I purchased a Carolina Panthers t-shirt. With glitter on it. For myself.

And I wore it out in public.

Over the past year, I have also purchased brightly colored tights for myself. Brightly colored pants.

I have been replacing my former wardrobe with articles of clothing that have unusual prints. I no longer just buy shades of brown or black. I've also gone a little nutso buying funky earrings.

I now own red high heels as well.

Now that I can fit into a wider array of clothing, it looks as if I'm just having fun being a smaller size.

That's not the only reason though.

For years, I would tell myself I could not wear certain things. Such as skinny jeans. Sweaters/tops that weren't baggy. Sleeveless anything was unthinkable, as well as anything that ended at my knees. Shorts were nothing I could even look at, let alone wear.

I did not like calling attention to myself with my clothing choices.

Not just because I was overweight.

I didn't want men to notice me.

I didn't want to stand out in a crowd.

I didn't want anyone to make fun of me for daring to wear something that showed off any part of my body.

I didn't think any physical part of me deserved to be shown off.

Today, for work, I decided to wear a navy skirt, with tall boots, white tights and an orange sweater that had a blue and white plaid pattern on it.

I wanted to wear the sweater, as I have not worn it many times this fall/winter and since I live in North Carolina, it will soon not be wearable until November.

After I got dressed, I look at myself in the mirror and thought I looked like a school girl. I also thought my outfit was adorable and it was going to be wasted on the library.

I went off to work, feeling sassy, because i was happy with my appearance.

I did not think again about what I was wearing until my coworker came down to the reference desk and asked me to stand up.

I did, slightly confused, tugging at my skirt to make sure it hadn't gotten caught on my butt.

He started laughing once he saw me standing.

I asked him what was so funny.

He told me that a male customer had mentioned to one of our other coworkers on his way out the door that I was showing a lot of leg today. He and I both looked at my legs, that had less than five inches exposed between my skirt and boots. And those five inches were covered in tights.

We both started laughing, as it was comical that anyone could have found my outfit scandalous.

I then went to find out exactly what had happened.

And my brain gremlins started to activate.

I felt shame at my choice of outfit.

I started doubting whether I should be wearing skirts.

I felt embarrassed that I thought I had looked cute, because obviously, I didn't look cute. I looked like a wanton woman.

I wanted to go home and change.

I wanted to be wearing baggy pants and a drab colored top, so I could blend into the furniture.

As I learned more about what the customer had said, we figured out, after I experimented with sitting down and crossing my legs, that he must have thought my tights were my bare legs.

it didn't calm my brain gremlins down though.

I began to call myself a hussy. Out loud, to my coworkers.

I made them sputter with unexpected laughter as I exclaimed "I'm just giving it away for free at the reference desk with as much flesh as I'm showing!"

I made another coworker take a picture for documentation, in case the customer ever brought up the whore librarian who was flashing her bits.

I was angry. I was embarrassed. I was cutting myself down.

Yes, I was laughing at the whole scenario, but I was livid that it had occurred.

How dare some mystery man dictate that I was wearing something inappropriate?

There are Reasons why this bothered me as much as it did, Reasons that I don't feel comfortable delving into just yet, if ever.

Let's just say that my second year living in Upstate South Carolina, I became very ill at ease with unwanted attention from men.

And I am still very ill at ease with it.

And my day became tarnished because once more, I was being judged for being myself.

And the way I have been dressing the past year, it's more an expression of who I am than anything else I used to wear.

I like wearing colors. I like feeling sassy in my wardrobe choices. I don't like wearing what everyone else wears. If I want to wear a shirt that has hot air balloons all over it, so be it. If I want to wear a sweatshirt covered in sheep, so be it. If I want to wear bright orange tights, I'm going to do it.

For I'm learning that it's okay to draw attention to myself. It's okay to be proud of the changes that I've made to my body. And it's okay to want to show off the best physical parts of me.

I look at old photos of myself and see a shell. I see a woman who is smiling, but her eyes aren't.

This discomfort in my body is nothing new. And although there is less of my body to be uncomfortable in, I still am not at peace with myself and appearance.

Someone called me skinny today and I vehemently informed them that there is no way that I could ever be called skinny, as I pinched the loose skin on my stomach.

I frequently grab the flesh under my chin and squeeze it, hoping that there will be less.

I take pictures of myself and delete them, so unhappy with how they look.

However, although I still do these things, there are other changes.

I allow myself to be photographed.

I look at pictures of me with my friends and focus on how happy I look, instead of how unhappy I am with the way I look.

And when I went home for my dinner break, I did not change out of my cute outfit.

And tomorrow, I'll wear another bright sweater.

And not worry about what might get said about me.

For I am not a woman who is happy when I'm wearing drab colors. I like to sparkle. If I want to get extremely full of myself, I'd even say that I just can't hide how fabulous I am.

And the way I now dress just reflects how, irregardless of my freak out today, with all that I confessed in this blog....even though I still beat myself up over my appearance, it's no longer the regularly scheduled program that it used to be.

I used to say when I was on the WW wagon that I was shedding my cocoon to become a butterfly. I was becoming Skinny Doris.

I don't say that anymore, because I don't want to become some alternate version of myself.

I'm becoming more Darcey than I have ever let myself be before.