Everyone experiences anxiety in different ways. I find I often have the hardest time with clothing. If you see me at work just know that I’ve probably changed my clothes no less than 5 times before I left the house.
That doesn’t look good.
Not feeling that today.
My midsection looks crazy in this.
No.
No.
After all this turmoil I usually end up wearing my Life Uniform. This is the type of outfit I’ve worn forever. Black pants with a modest black shirt and flats. All that drama and I always end up in the same fashion place. And by always I mean my friends (and husband) want to contact the authorities when I leave the house not wearing black.
When I started losing weight I did start wearing some color. The ONLY reason for this was I was losing pretty rapidly and I was given a lot of transitional clothes. It does not make any sense to purchase clothes the first YEAR after weight loss surgery unless you’re into wasting money or you shop at thrift stores. Every moment I wore a colorful t-shirt I was in misery. Just not my thing. Anyone who would say any complimentary was always met with “Thanks, it’s not mine.”
When I started buying clothes I would gravitate toward so many Life Uniform pieces that my husband was willing to sacrifice almost anything to get me to buy a non-black shirt. I always look like I’m in mourning but it suits me. I do try to branch out, but it doesn’t seem to work out. Like this one shirt I have.
I purchased this shirt a few months ago and I liked it. Although it’s black it has beautiful flowers embroidered on it. I liked it so much that I thought I could ignore the cut out shoulders and neck. I came home and put it on and I liked it. I thought it looked nice and that I would get over feeling the breeze over my collarbones. I see people wearing cut out shirts all the time and they look great. Why not me?
I snapped a selfie and sent it to my husband. He loved it BUT he would also would love me in a burlap sack. Then I got the first realization that we may have a problem. He was getting his hair cut at the time and showed his hairdresser, our friend, the picture. He texts me back that she loved it too. I had a mini-freak out inside that someone else saw the picture. Oh stop, Regina!
Then I tried to wear it to work.
No.
No.
Next time.
Nope.
Then I tried to wear it socially.
No.
No.
Next time.
There is no next time. There has never been a next time. I have never worn the shirt. Sad because I love it.
Last night as I try to get a jump on the horror that is getting dressed in the morning I see the shirt in my closet. Tags still on it. I decide to act. If the exposure is making me uncomfortable the alter the discomfort. I put it on backwards and tried to figure out if I had enough play in the garment to close the openings but not lose the shirt. It has a bit of a trapeze swing to the body of the tunic but the arms could be challenging. I decided to go for it! The shirt is doing nothing in my closet next to the many other things I don’t wear because the sleeves are too short, midsection to obvious, or color doesn’t fit the Life Uniform. A few creative stitches later I have a shirt that I love that I’m finally comfortable wearing AND is has a splash of color.
I don’t know why getting dressed is pure craziness for me. I don’t know if I’ll ever embrace wearing multiple colors and prints. Until I get there I’ll continue try to branch out and if it’s just one thing that is making me freak out then just remove the one thing. Like this:
Let’s go to work!
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