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| Little gloves for the foxes and fey. Image courtesy archives of painter Samuel McLoy {1831~1904} |
Happy spring to you! The cottage is all warm, I have some tea on my serving tray, the chickens roam the garden, and the smell of confederate jasmine permeates the air.
I have been reluctant to speak in-depth about my divorce; however, I have become aware that sharing my story of truth is essential in maintaining authenticity and transparency here on my blog. Therefore, I will find a way of discussion, explanation and clarity whilst also sending forth grace.
When I was a wee little girl, I wore dresses every day. Initially, as an act of modesty became a way of life by deliberate choice. I have always felt more at home in a dress. My mission and goal with my blog are to lend others a bed of softness to land. Oh my, this shall indeed be a place of community enveloped with love, acceptance and learning.
I am not a person that believes a perfectly curated life is natural; there is becoming. Many know of our dear ol' Tasha Tudor and how lovely her life seemed; indeed, I have no doubts about her imaginative nature in fulfilling such endeavours. However, Tasha's desire to remain private created want to showcase how a life of artistry, lifestyle and authorship sets off. Tasha's admiration for her artistry is undoubtedly a fact, but I think people loved her lifestyle with equal facility. So I have been on a lifelong quest to pull back the curtains. Now I shall get on with this remaining post.
One balmy August, the summer of 1986, I stayed a spell with a dear cousin of mine. She was ten years my senior, and I admired her immensely. She has since transitioned, but I still converse with her in spirit.
I wanted to spend time with her, as I had done so many times throughout my childhood, and this was to be one last summer of cheering excitement as I was to enter high school at summers end. Sybrena had a sophisticated sense of style, never wore anything that wasn't heavily starched/ironed, and always smelt of Private Collection. She reminded me of Ms Tiggy Winkles on wash day.
My father's construction business was thriving at the time, and he handed me off several thousand dollars for school clothes shopping. Sybrena hatched a plan to cart me off to the local mall, fully intending to perform (in her opinion and others too) a much-needed makeover on me. The Limited was her favourite store in the mall. Do you remember back then they had an entire line called "Outback Red"? Well, that day, Sybrena branded me that signature look. I will give her distinction for I made best-dressed in my yearbook two years consecutively. We also collected new cosmetics and then to the hairdresser for a bobbed haircut.
I was thrilled to bits to be dappled with such attention. The thought crossed my jovial mind that this was to be a new life for me. No one knew I had all manner of insecurities, and my new look was indeed to bring about a confident young lady, a country mile from that homely girl just two months prior.
For several years although I appeared to be confident, clever with a cheery disposition, I would come back around the bend to reveal that same shy, insecure girl.
You see what happens, and I learned this over time: even though you get a makeover, you're still that same person inside. If you do not change the foundational beliefs about yourself, it will not maintain itself. I suppose I'm a slow learner, for it took me over two decades to realise this truth.
I know that how I wasn't allowed to dress was not the sole reason for my divorce, nor is that a literal statement, but it was a significant contributing factor. All big things precede more minor things. Altogether, it was those little moments of someone in my ear constantly dismantling my spirit over time. The layers build upon each other, and before I was fully aware, I felt entirely like a shell of the person I remember.
I could bang on about all of the detrimental moments that wore me down over time, but I'll not muddy the waters. I didn't love myself, and therefore my ex ill-suited mate could not love me either. He didn't love himself, so why did I expect him to give me what he did not alone possess. Once I learned to love myself, the world followed suit.
