I stood over my overstuffed suitcase in a Southern California airbnb, tears dripping off my face and into the explosion of clothes below. I was 43 years old at the time, and STILL unraveling others' expectations.

And in this particular case, it was thoughts on what I "should" LOOK like.

See… growing up in Orange County, California felt like it had come with a DRESS CODE that I never quite got right, and heading back down there again had brought back aaaaall my fears of feeling "less-than." And desperately wanting to fit in to a place I knew I never would.

So I'd packed a giant suitcase with all the stuff I THOUGHT I should wear, all stuff I used to wear, to help me better look the part.

And truth be told, I would've looked cute in ANY of the outfits I'd brought. But dressed that way, I wouldn't have FELT like mySELF. Because I had changed even more than I’d realized in the time that I'd been gone, and I just wasn't that person anymore. Those clothes didn't FIT me anymore, in waaay more than just a physical sense.

But I hadn't realized just how much till I was back down there in SoCal again... staring at the remnants of my past self in a suitcase.

So I cried. Torn between "looking good" (aka "fitting in + being accepted") or "being comfortable" (aka accepting mySELF, as I was NOW).

Thankfully, my husband was there with me. And he's someone who is kind, and patient, and understands me better than anyone else on this planet.

And he's also got a pragmatic approach to life & quite a different outlook on all the "performances" we're expected to participate in as a member of society, especially as he has a pen!s & not a vag!na... meaning he hasn't been subjugated to the same kind of brainwashing as we women have about aaaall the unwritten rules of how we are "supposed" to be & behave as a woman.

So my wonderful husband stepped in with a "pep talk" that went something like this:

1. Who are you even trying to impress, and why?

2. Please be COMFORTABLE, and just be YOU.

3. If others shoot you dirty looks or think you don't belong there, F*ck them anyway. (And see point 1.)

And he was right. So my tears dried & I felt a million times better.

I then donned my suuuuper comfy BRIGHT RED plaid stretch pants, a black tank top minus a bra (gasp), and no jewelry except for my wedding ring.

And with that simple change of clothing, I breathed deeply & released all those imaginary anxiety-inducing expectations… and stepped back into my power. My sense of self. Leaving the "old me" and all her insecurities at the bottom of that suitcase.

Because they just didn't FIT anymore.

Love,
Chel

ps: these 📸 are self-portraits taken in the backyard with a tripod & a timer. And yes, I LOVE me a good hair flip. This was 4 years ago, though... so I think I'm waaaay overdue for another self-portrait session! 🙌 Coming SOON??? Because there have been even more changes between then & now.