She Wore a Skirt (and loved it!)

I realized yesterday that half of my lifetime has passed since I paid attention to fashion, makeup, nail polish and such. Yes, twenty-five years! When I was fresh out of college with my first grown-up job, I shopped endlessly and had a great wardrobe. Shoes, purses, jewelry to go with every outfit. A closet full of designer labels. It mattered to me, ALOT.

Then I got married and had babies and became a stay-at-home mom, and fashion morphed into function: stirrup pants with tunic tops, jumpers with turtlenecks. I dressed and looked like a kindergarten teacher. Then, about the time my kids became adolescents, my disability really started progressing. I became depressed, gained weight, and basically didn't give a crap about my appearance... my subconscious attitude was "Why bother. I'm screwed in the physical realm anyhow." Then, I became a Christian and thought I had better, loftier things to attend to than putting on lipstick... like changing the world. While at the height of saving everybody else,about two years ago, a homeless, recovering alcoholic told me I would be taken alot more seriously if I didn't look like her.

Ouch. WAKE UP CALL!!! I immediately began a quest to dress better, which was incredibly difficult since I was obese, could not wear shoes on my swollen feet, and was basically a physical train-wreck. (It's only looking back that I see where I was. At the time, engrossed in helping people, I was oblivious to my own need to be saved.)

Sometimes salvation comes through the backdoor. Back in March, when my world crumbled, I had nothing to do and nobody to save. In the midst of the confusion and the loss of bearings, I focused on the only thing that was left: me. Oh, I lamented and mourned and wanted real work to do and people to help. Instead, in the absence of that, I rode my Nustep. and rode it. and rode it. and cried.

Yesterday was one of those days where you suddenly see that life has changed even while you didn't realize it was changing. I spent most of the day trying on clothes. For the first time in ten years, I dressed in front of a full length mirror that I had placed in my bedroom. I had been shopping for the past several weeks (online, ebay, department stores, and thrift stores) and had piles of clothes to sort through... to try to re-learn what I knew at age 25: that looking good is an art and it takes work. Not everything works on every body. Compounding that, a disabled body brings a slew of additional challenges.

Just take trying on clothes, for instance. The average able-bodied person bops into the fitting room with an armload of clothes. Stands, stoops, twists, turns, tugs and returns to the racks for more armloads of clothes. I, on the other hand, don't have the physical stamina for that. Usually, I buy clothes that might work and try them on, a little at a time, at home. Most go back to the store, which entails another laborious shopping expedition. (I don't just park in the fire lane and dash into the store for a two minute return. Even that trip has to be carefully orchestrated and planned.)

Yesterday, I tried on tights. With paralyzed legs, something as simple as putting on a pair of tights is a challenge. I reached over and lifted my left leg and set it on my right thigh. Then I started rolling the tights over my foot, which slipped and fell to the floor. I repeated this until I got the tights over my foot. Then I repeated that for my right foot. With the tights pulled to my thighs, I stood up from my wheelchair and tried to quickly pull them up the rest of the way. (Quickly because I have terrible balance.) Ha! Ain't nothing quick about trying to pull tights (think about the name!) over size 18 hips. I thought about wearing them scrunched at mid-thigh, but was so excited about the fashion doors that tights could open, that I persisted. In order to gain better balance, I put my forehead against the wall. The resultant trapezoid formed between the wall and my two feet gave me the stability to coax (read, wrestle) those tights (did I buy toddler sized by mistake?)over my womanly hips. And then I looked down and saw I had pulled a large snag in the fabric and had to start all over again! But it was worth the effort and more!

For the first time in ten years, I wore a skirt! It was a cute, military styled knee-length khaki skirt. (And size 18! If you had told me 25 years ago that one day I would be delighted to be small enough to fit into a size 18 skirt, that would have sounded totally nuts!) With my gunmetal gray tights, new pewter-colored flats, red sweater set and gray pearls, I looked fantastic. It took an entire day of trying on clothes, and discarding items that just didn't work on my body (like long shirts or skirts... I couldn't believe that I looked GOOD in thigh length skirts!!!!) but the end result was a polished, cute, fun outfit. I spent extra time on my hair and makeup, and for the first time in a long, long, long time, I felt like my exterior matched my interior. It was one of the best days of my life.

Two years ago, I couldn't wear shoes on my swollen feet. I had wounds on my legs. I was a size 24. I dried my hair by hanging my head out the window. I rarely wore makeup.

Yesterday, I had polished nails, cute shoes (still a challenge to find cute shoes for my still partially swollen feet), LEGS!!!, great hair (getting caramel colored hi-lites next week), and I felt like the bell of the ball.

I could write all day about the wonder of it all, but, hey, I have shopping to do.

And by the way, this is not a Madison-avenue, fear-based, vanity trip. This is saying to myself and to the world, "An overweight, wheelchair-using woman can believe she is worth of this kind of honor and attention and she can live out the beauty that she feels inside." Maybe that changes the world without trying to change the world.