Mental Health & Clothing

A conversation about wearing our turmoil.

I am a child and I am following my mother as she gets ready for a date night.

I can smell her earthy perfume and see her hair done up while she’s still dressed down in dark-pressed denim and her bra. The spicy notes of her special-event fragrance (I’m fairly certain it was Poison by Dior) collides with her salon-grade hairspray in an almost visible wave of spray chemicals. She finishes her makeup with a warm eyelash curler and autumn, rust-red lipstick.

Her closet is lit inside a darkened, brown bedroom. She’s wearing denim but she’s perfected the look of casually elegant as she dresses in a wrapped cotton top and adds her jewelry of either stones or golden beads. My mother chooses one of her many pairs of heels and removes the hair clips that helped her hair dry in a wave.

This memory curiously resides in the same place with the image of me sobbing in a nursing tank top and pajama pants, because I’m drenched in spit up for the third time that day, with a newborn baby that won’t stop crying to nurse. My chest feels chapped and I am starving, dehydrated, and sleep-deprived. I haven’t brushed my teeth in two days and I keep opening up chat bubbles to friends but I have no idea what to say.

It’s also a memory that fits next to me in a dressing room a year post partum sitting down in silent frustration because the three items I chose don’t fit the body I’m still not familiar knowing. After all of this time my C-section scar itches against certain styles of jeans and my chest and hips look like a deflated balloon. I see cholesterol deposits and dark circles under concealer that has sweat off my skin and I collect myself before saying “I’ll try again later” when emerge behind my temporary closet.

---

I recently had a friend on social media comment how nice I always dress and that is truly the catalyst to this letter today because it blew me away. For starters, I want to remind you I’m typically dressed in a oversized sweater to hide the body I’m still getting to know and to also try to hide the breasts I’m unsuccessfully weaning my daughter from wanting.

When I sat down to write about clothing today, I knew it was going to start with my mother because she has always dressed in a way that, from my perspective, has shown an attitude of being put-together despite whatever life is throwing at her. This is an attitude that probably explains why I think of her getting ready when I am trying my best to survive the day. When people talk about the idea of generational trauma, they’re probably not referencing the idea of generational-style, but here we are…

My great-grandmother

My mother taught me that if she wasn’t feeling well- physically or mentally- she was determined to look good. She infused these stories of style into my life over the years.

I’ve heard tales of my great-grandmother in the context of her elegance and character; a woman who would be wearing Coco Chanel, have her hair done up, and be barefoot to hang up clothing on the drying line in their small Idaho town. A woman who taught my mother to dress with rules that would transcend trends and fads, despite the underlying anxieties she carried with her in life. Decades before I came into being I can hold onto passed down memories of my great grandmother brushing my mother’s hair as a child and sharing these things with her. But the mental trials the women of my life carry could not withstand the presence she (or my mother) brought into a room when they were “ready” for the day.

The idea of fashion is not one of brand-labels for the women in my family. The clothes have always been an armor of confidence. I am getting to a place in my life where thirty fits me more suitably like a black and white blazer drapes down my side.

As a teenager and twenty-something I felt so uncomfortable because inside I wished to wear what my great grandmother would have probably worn but my lack of confidence and young age led me to Converse and long-sleeve thermals. For a little while I dipped my toes in the idea of dressing like I wished but when motherhood came, my ability to take care of myself disintegrated.

Motherhood has done some transformative work in me.

It’s not a matter of saying I have “arrived” but rather motherhood has been carving away the unnecessary parts of myself. I no longer spend every day applying makeup for the sake of everyone else’s perspective and now wear whatever amount suits the day and mood. My time is sparse and whether I do my hair or simply put it up can mean an extra 15 minutes to accomplish eating a meal.

I’m heading into another season as we try to wean my daughter and I realize I’m ready to dress the way I’ve always wanted. So in lieu of some hard rules passed down to me from women in my family (like not mixing black, dark brown, and navy items), here are a few goals and aspirations I have regarding my clothing.

I am in the process of minimizing what I have to wear.

The list is long in parenthood when it comes to making decisions and something my therapist has suggested is to minimize the micro-decisions I make in a day to decrease my exhaustion.

One of my biggest stressors is LAUNDRY, specifically going into my room at the end of a long day and seeing a mountain of clothes that need to be folded…only to find I’m losing space to put my clothes. I’m in the process of donating or throwing away items that I’ve been holding onto for years. I ask myself these questions:

1. Does it still fit properly?

2. Can I wear it with more than one thing?

3. Can I wear this either casually or in a professional setting?

4. Does it have sentimental value?

5. Does this item have holes/ rips/ etc.?

I’m putting “nice” clothes in the closet.

Instead of cramming everything into a dresser drawer, I’ve been working on being more intentional with how I treat my things. Messy day clothes, t-shirts, denim, and pajamas are strictly in the dresser but items I want to wear for the long haul now find a home in the closet. It’s helping me feel like I’m building a cohesive collection instead of storing away clothing.

I want to dress in confidence.

Whether I’m throwing a blazer on over plain t-shirt or dressing in soft clothes that hold me during a hard day, I want to put on clothes that make me feel confident. For a long time I’ve dressed in a way to hide away from view because that’s where I felt I needed to be. I’ve made excuses that whatever season or job I’m in doesn’t allow for me to feel good about my clothes, but it’s truly an issue of me not wanting to care for myself.

The woman who was waking up at 2 am covered in spit up for the thousandth time, who needed to shower before going back to bed even though her child was screaming for her, is the same woman dressed in a sweater that wraps around her waist in an elegant way. The same woman who sprays on Dior or Chanel perfume is the same woman who is taking deep breathes in the yard alone while she figures out how to take care of her family and herself.

I think about these stories and wonder what Eliza will grow up remembering when she is in the bathroom getting ready with me. For now, I’m taking comfort knowing that I have these stories to tell in a long story of women.

I’d love to hear if clothing and mental health have an association with you in the comments.