I have always found it so hard to find my style. My favourite wardrobe items are things I bought when I’ve asked a friend (or stranger) where it’s from. Mum says I need to pick things that go with clothes I already have, and that I should focus on a capsule wardrobe.
When I had Olive, I felt like I wanted a more “mature style” (I don’t really know what that means) But not mumsy. But also comfortable. I had a sort out the other week when Mum came to stay and I put as much as I possibly could on Vinted. Every day things are selling and each time I duck tape another Sainsbury’s carrier bag and head to the post office, I feel a twang of regret. I’m not sure why; these are clothes and shoes and bags that haven’t seen the light of day in years. Lovely clothes that I bought on impulse mostly. I am the ultimate impulse buyer. I am overwhelmed with such urgency to buy the clothes, and then my stomach knots when I realise I’ve spent money. The clothes arrive and now it takes me days to try on, and most of the time I’m never really sure. Mum also says, if you have to think about it, it’s not for you. And I completely agree, but I do it anyway.
I don’t actually know what suits me. I haven’t decided what lane I want to stay in, but I do know I like keeping it quite plain. I want people to think I look nice, but the idea of standing out in bright colours and daring outfits makes me feel physically ill.
I am always changing my idea on who I’d like to dress like. It changes one day to the next. Girly today, Hayley from Paramore tomorrow. I should just be myself, but WHO is that?! And when did eyeliner start looking so ridiculous on me? I actually laughed out loud last time I had a full face of make up on. Nice try, Lucy. I felt silly and outrageous, almost rebellious because it felt so wild for me.
One thing I have found since becoming a mum which in turn means social drinking less, is that I am getting to know my real self more. And I think I was a little surprised to find that I am more awkward than I thought. Dare I say a bit shy, even. But I am trying to own these parts of me that have been surviving for 32 years now, rather than hide them and pretend to be a different personality along with a different wardrobe. I realise I get tongue tied during simple conversations because I can’t stand for the other person to feel a dip or silence - just say ANYTHING to make everyone feel more comfortable. And when I meet people on a flight of stairs, I have to say *hellooo* or *sorry!* - I think I say sorry the most of any words. Why is that? Sorry for holding the door open for me, sorry I am walking the pram, sorry I am reaching for the milk and you’re looking down the same aisle. That is something to work on.
It’s a strange comfort knowing no one will find me more annoying than me. I say things aloud and immediately cringe at myself, speak a bit too much during dinner with friends, try a bit too hard to ask any random question to keep a conversation flowing. Sometimes once Matt and me have said goodnight and I lie in the dark, I think over some of my interactions from the day and redo them in my head. How would a more “mature” version of me deal with the situation…
When we took Olive to the doctors the other day, our doctor listened to me over explain the simple fact that Olive had a temperature and I watched him take in the information, digest and then serve up his answer; a delightful full course meal of conversation. Who would have thought! I was so envious of that beautiful example of listening and responding. Why can’t I do that?! I dream of a day someone asks me something and I take a second before responding. For me it’s a battle not to throw up words before the other person even finishes speaking. I’m not even sure what I’ve said, but just say something Lucy!!!
But back to the clothes and liking myself. Olive is helpful when it comes to trying to like me a bit more. Having a baby is hard but she thinks I’m great. Everything I do gets full attention; a smile with every walk into a room and adoring eye contact always. She gets to see all my angles at every point of the day and still thinks I’m the bees knees. She also doesn’t care about what I wear or if I have my eyebrows on. She’s pretty cool with my hair up or down, if it’s been washed today or has been greasy for almost a week. There’s no morning breath too strong for her when it comes to snuggling into my arms, and no bags too heavy under my eyes after a long night.
So with that, I’m going to try and embrace the version of me I’ve been given. Small tweaks here and there to try and calm the chaos of my mind - a couple of seconds to take a breath during conversations, a moment to think about what to say before saying it. Getting rid of clothes that I don’t want to wear for someone else to enjoy, and using my vinted pocket money on some new things that are comfortable but make me feel like me and not someone else. Because I’m not in Paramore and I’m not an actress with my own stylists. I’m just me and that is ok :)
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