Worn || Fruit Stripe

LulaRoe swept through my mom community like a tidal wave. One minute I’d never heard of it and five minutes later I was joining the cult of buttery leggings. Postpartum 2015 was a very strange time, friends. I was never a fanatic but I did manage to score a few pairs of those super soft leggings. They were the closest thing to wearing pajamas while still being “presentable” for the public. Although, one could ask if grown-ups being clad in the adult equivalent of Garanimals is really presentable for public consumption. But, that’s a conversation for another time.

Like almost everyone I know, I watched LuLaRich on Amazon Prime to get the behind-the-scenes story on how awful this company is. It was fascinating! I’ve long since donated my LulaRoe leggings and despite the stories online detailing how much of the inventory of former sellers ended up at thrift stores across the country, I’ve never actually seen it in any of my thrifting trips. Last week on the hunt for a few new sweaters, I spotted a brightly colored sleeve among the racks at my local Goodwill. I knew it was coming home with me. I was shocked to see that it was LuLaRoe! The quality was great and the stripes actually lined up. It was a LuLaCorn!

Cardigan- LuLaRoe- Thrifted similar one here || Oxford Button Down- Old Navy- Thrifted similar one here|| Jeans- Levi’s Jeans- here ||Booties- old as hell but similar ones here

*links are affiliate and I will receive a small commission if you choose to shop with them.*

Worn||A Well-Dressed Mess

Mother’s Day came and went this year without a post from me. It was the second one without my mom and in all honesty, I was unprepared for how hard it would hit me. Most of last year was spent in a haze of personal grief and collective mourning for all that we were losing almost daily. I was numb last year. This year I felt the weight of my own personal loss. Perhaps, I should say, I finally allowed myself to feel the weight of my loss.

Like lots of mothers and daughters, my mom and I had a complicated relationship. Sometimes we were so alike that most people would never notice how vast our differences were. And, I think I always believed those monumental differences meant that I would never be the daughter she was proud of. I always believed the times she voiced doubt about my choices or concern for the direction of my life it was judgment. I thought her interest in our commonalities was pressure for me to do those things the exact same way that she did. I never suspected that perhaps I was teaching her or that she was excited to see something she loved become something important to me.

I’ve been struggling in therapy a lot lately which is really how it goes. Every breakthrough is followed by a breakdown. Because growth can be as painful as it is powerful. Both awesome and terrifying. So, my therapist gave me homework. I had to write a letter to myself laying out all of the reasons why I’m not that broken person I was in my past. The girl I jokingly call, The Well Dressed Mess. The Bespoke Basketcase. The Fuck Up in the lovely Frock.

I won’t go into all the details I laid out in that letter but the one that is sticking with me and the one I’ve been unable to really say out loud is that I can’t be that old version of myself because I am my mother’s legacy.

In the few years before she died, we weren’t very close. Miscommunication and hurt feelings were at the root of it. But, I’d finally started to work past some of them. We started talking a little more. My visits weren’t so few and far between. Honestly, I thought we’d have more time. We didn’t. And I’ve carried so much guilt. Guilt that wouldn’t let me say that I miss her so much. Guilt that wouldn’t let me tell people how very much I loved her. And that guilt would never let me say that I can’t go back to being the well-dressed mess because it’s not who my mom raised me to be.

Whenever I was facing a conflict or a crisis, I could go to her. We’d have coffee and I would cry it out. She’d wipe my tears and rub my back. Saying, “I know….I know…it’s okay sweetie….” over and over until I was soothed. When I was ready to go back out into the world she’d give me a hug and whisper “give ‘em hell, Rae!” in my ear as I left.

So even when the fight to stay mentally healthy is incredibly difficult and all of the demons from my past are being kept at bay by the thinnest of razor wire, I will not be that person ever again because I’m starting to realize that I’m growing into the woman my mom always knew I was.

I’m still here mama, and I’m doing my damndest to give ‘em hell!

Worn || Happy

Sadness and grief make the world look different. Everything is the same but different. The world keeps moving. Life, as they say, goes on. The sun isn’t shining but the temperature is blessedly warm for a mid-western winter. So, I’m keeping things simple- a favorite sweater, jeans, sneakers and a coat from my mom.

Worn|| But Fashion

Where my America’s Top Model fans?! Tyra, Ms. Jay and Mr. Jay snatched our collective edges in the early 2000s. And thanks to Al Gore’s internet, those first groundbreaking seasons are GIFS that keep giving!

The kiss of death was for the panel to declare the hopefuls “too catalog” or, Ana Wintour forbid, too commercial! One of my favorite scenes was for a swimsuit shoot. Tyra explains to the young wannabe that she has crossed a line into bad taste. They are models not centerfolds, damnit! It can be “ho but F A S H I O N”. That friends was not only epic television, it serves as my own little style mantra when getting dressed.

So when I decided to wear this cute little thrifted shirtdress instead of wearing Chucks and the cardigan I planned to wear, I thought “suburban housewife BUT FASHION!” I’m not sure if having a tiny trio of sartorial saints whisper in my ear is indicative of larger issues at play, but I’m fairly pleased with the results!

Jacket|| Forever 21

Shirtdress||(Old Navy) Thrifted

Sneakers||(Aldo) Thrifted

Belt|| Target