I’ve been thinking about color quite a bit lately. I have spent many years wearing dull, drab clothing and no makeup. No hair color. I started dyeing my hair again during quarantine, and I am really enjoying playing around with weird colors. Why not? I just don’t care anymore. I have spent so long worrying about people thinking I am weird, and they do anyway. So, I’m just going to exist and enjoy myself now.
So, let’s talk about colors because I want them back in my daily life.
Until very recently, orange was my favorite color and had been since I was a teenager. It represented my grandmother to me - the weird one who was always nicer to me than the rest of my extended family. She used to crochet gifts for everyone every Christmas. She had four kids and a multitude of grandkids, and everyone had a color scheme. Mine was brown and green and yellow and orange. Everyone else made fun of it, but honestly, I loved the colors. They are still my favorites to this day. And, it dawned on me later that they are all found everywhere in nature, especially in the woods. She at least got some part of who I was.
I was drawn mostly to orange because it was energetic and beautiful. I felt like it resonated with my weirdness. I was always the weird one, and I began to really lean into it after a while. A small rebellion I guess.
But, before then… I loved yellow. I enjoyed all shades, but I specifically loved this dark, somewhat orangey shade.
Now, let me tell you about my yellow sweater.
In the height of the 90s, I was just entering my teens, and like most girls my age I was obsessed with fashion. My exposure was extremely limited, of course. The internet was just beginning to be available, and we had just gotten our first computer, a clunky gray monstrosity that was the height of technology (or close to it) at the time. My fashion knowledge was based solely on Seventeen magazine, and whatever other books or magazines I could beg off my mother or grandmother.
As an unattractive weirdo in a family of bland achievers, I was always trying to find a balance between my wild imagination and the requirements of being an acceptable member of my family. At this time, I believed in my soul that I would become a combination of fashion designer and ballet dancer. Delusional? Yes, completely. But, I was also only thirteen and looking for my creative outlet in a small town with extremely limited resources.
Now, my narcissistic mother has an even more narcissistic mother of her own. It doesn’t come from nowhere, that’s for sure. I was my grandmother’s chosen weapon, and she wielded me without remorse for the destruction she caused. Narcissists are the most amazing storytellers. They paint elaborate pictures of the wrongs done to them, and you feel for them. They feed off the sympathy. They feed off the pain.
My grandmother kept me on her side with money, gifts, and trips. She completely ignored my sister, which I felt bad about, but she was also one of the only family members who paid any attention to me. I had to take the attention wherever I could get it. She didn’t seem to care that I was a weirdo.
*** She did care that I was fat, and encouraged smoking to lose weight, but that’s another story. ***
This story is about a thirteen year old girl. A step toward the creative. And, a bright yellow sweater.
The narcissist grandma only features in the story as the provider of said sweater. She liked to take me to antique stores and thrift shops. At the time, I was really into 20s and 60s inspired looks but mixed with a lot of the current (at the time) 90s fashions. I liked shopping with her because she would buy me whatever I wanted. No judgments. Not at that moment anyway.
I had been collecting pieces for a little bit and beginning to attempt putting looks together. My day-to-day clothes consisted of jeans and sweatshirts because anything else would have been mocked unmercifully at school. I didn’t need to give them even more ammunition. But, in the privacy of my room, I would put together looks and play with makeup and hair designs.
One day, I found the outfit. Leggings under a jean skirt with a sweater that was a gorgeous shade of orangey yellow that just made me so happy. I found the sweater at a thrift store with NG, and immediately knew I had to have it. I decided that I was going to try wearing my outfit for the entire day. In front of my family. It was a Saturday, and we had no plans until later in the day.
I stepped quietly into the kitchen and waited. The response came almost immediately.
“What the fuck are you wearing?”
And, back into my room I went.
I cried. A lot. I ripped up my fashion designs and threw them away. The yellow sweater and the rest of my “fashion” clothes went into the shadows in the back of my closet. It became another failure. Something for them to joke about until the next thing took its place.
I never completely lost interest in fashion. I kept reading about it and occasionally thought about different looks, but I accepted at that moment that fashion design was not in my future.
Flash forward twenty-seven years. Forty year old me is out with the family, and we end up at Walmart. I desperately needed pants, and almost immediately I spotted a pair of soft, stretchy, yellow plaid pants. I was instantly drawn to them. I walked over and felt the fabric. It was soft and delightful. I walked away – because they were not practical. But, then I circled back. A few times. I just couldn’t leave the store without them.
So, I bought them. And, I love them. So much.
It was a rocky start, however. I kept them on a shelf in my closet for a while before I decided to wear them. Immediately, my husband complimented me, and then my kids did, too. I felt like I looked good, but that was a nice ego boost. So much so that I wore them out of the house on the same day. I felt great. I bought a shirt to go with them, and this is the first time I had purchased a complete outfit in a long time. Not just a piece I like here or there.
When my kids were little, and I attempted to fit into the mom world, I lost any interest in clothes or even in how I looked. Sweats and yoga pants were my go-tos, and color was slowly fading from my wardrobe. It started imperceptibly, and I didn’t notice at first. Suddenly, one day, I realized that I was only wearing tan, gray, and dark green. Even black was too much because it reminded me of my goth days. I wore only the colors of camouflage. I wanted to pass through the world unnoticed.
Yellow has become my healing color. When I first decided to shake up my drab clothing, I bought a yellow sweatshirt from a company I was working with at the time. It says Nature is Dope, and I absolutely love it. It’s the same color as the pants, and my oldest son teased me about my sudden obsession with yellow.
That’s when I realized that it’s the same color as that yellow sweater. I love this color, and I always have. Apparently, it looks good on me. It makes me happy. And, I feel like I am one step closer to the person I am truly meant to be.
Therapy is opening up a lot of doors that I didn’t even remember existed. I hadn’t thought about that sweater in decades. It wasn’t long after that I got into grunge, and my outfits were either simple and sloppy or cute. I will never believe that a plaid skirt and Doc Martens is not a cute look. Funnily, I was shamed more for the cute looks than the basic ripped jeans and flannel shirts. I stood out less dressed like my dad than in a cute skirt. Plus, all things feminine and girly were considered weak in my family. And, I could not be weak.
That’s part of the reason I have been feeling a strong need to embrace my feminine side lately. I have fought against an entire half of my personality for most of my life, and I am by nature a soft, gentle person. I learned how to fight. I learned how to channel my anger. I learned how to cut down opponents and not care about what happened after. Just say my piece and move on. Devastate and step away. I learned how to protect myself. I had to. No one else was going to help me.
Anyway, I wish I’d worn that sweater. I wish I had any kind of backbone as a kid, but what did I know? I’m back into yellow now, and it feels like healing. I can't really articulate it better than that.
In my quest for the feminine I am also getting into the color pink. It was always too girly before now, but honestly, I really like it.
It’s got me thinking about my recent visit to my in-laws. We did a holiday get together the weekend before Thanksgiving with my husband’s family. It has been a long time. My narcissist mother kept his family as far away as she possibly could, and I went along with it for a long time. I tried to keep the peace. We tried to do combined family holidays, but something was always wrong. I was always confused because I never saw whatever my NM was upset about.
Recently, I have come to my senses. It was very upsetting to see my role in the shenanigans. I was embarrassed, but I wrote a letter to my mom in law explaining myself and apologizing profusely. It was so fucking scary, but I think it was the right choice. I needed the relief and luckily she accepted my apologies and has been so lovely and supportive. I’m not entirely sure how to handle this, but it’s really, really nice.
I was nervous about the get-together.
a. I am always nervous in new situations
b. Haven’t seen his sister in ages.
I always liked her, but again -- my family is fucking mean and relentless. I was an asshole, and I hate that so much.
Ah, the joys of therapy and shadow work -- constantly realizing what an asshole I have been and trying to work through it all -- ugh.
Anyway, the holiday was lovely. My sister-in-law is a great hostess, and their home was so warm and comfortable. That was the first startling comparison -- shoes off or on, comfortable seating, a warm, lived in home. It was so welcoming and comfortable. They gave us each a bag of gifts, which honestly, is the best kind of gift -- and there was one thing that almost made me cry.
A pink winter hat
This seems like nothing, I know -- but… it’s exactly what I wanted, and I have not expressed that to anyone. I usually just kind of say a general thing I’d like and let people pick. This is exactly what I envisioned. It’s light pink which is not old me, but something I’m interested in exploring -- ya know, being more feminine. It also has a faux fur pompom which I have always wanted, but it’s kinda not me at all. And, finally, it fits my big ass head. Most hats do not work for me because I have a large head, but this fits perfectly.
It makes me so happy.
She just kind of generally knows who I am and cared enough to buy something I would love. I know it seems simple, but it means so fucking much. I am not used to people thinking about me - like the real me.
My whole gift was warm and cozy stuff, and I loved it all. There was a super soft scarf or maybe a pashmina?? It’s large and warm and wonderful, anyway. The hat, of course, warm fleece lined socks, gloves, and a warm soft blanket
I really needed some softness. Some comfort. It was just perfect.
This holiday season has really been the absolute best one yet. We do the holidays right -- like for the entire month of Dec. This year we expanded our spooky season and did spooky xmas as well. My oldest loves Halloween, and we’re a pretty spooky family overall. I ordered a black tree, and we did a mix of Halloween and xmas decorations. I also got them some Nightmare Before Christmas ornaments. It was so awesome.
So, I have been dipping into tik tok lately, and I really enjoy it. I mostly hang out in ADHD tik tok – which bleeds into CPTSD and survivors of narcissistic parents – so, it’s all speaking to me. Good job algorithm.
It has been extremely enlightening and affirming. It helps me to not feel so alone - to know that it’s not weird, and I am not wrong. I know there is no going back. It would be impossible after having experienced this much happiness and freedom.
The thing that has been blowing my mind is that it is perfectly fine to not attend holiday functions with people that make me feel like shit – even if it’s family. I made the choice to protect my mental health this year, and my holiday with the in-laws was so lovely. We got to make the holidays about what we enjoy, and everyone was really happy and content. No drama.
I’ve never been allowed this kind of goodness before, and I have no fucking idea how to handle it. I know – what a privileged complaint, but trust me… it’s been a loooong road getting here. That’s why it feels so strange and ill-fitting – but, I’ll get used to it. I definitely want to keep this feeling close.
The truth is heavy and I have been taught to lie. I am exhausted from holding the secrets, and finally, at 40, I am finding freedom. Freedom looks like bright yellow plaid pants, and it feels soft – like the lining of my perfect, new, pink hat.
I will continue to allow more softness into my life. I have tried being strong and stoic, and it almost killed me. I am not meant to hold so much pain behind thick walls of stoicism. I have seen how it erodes my health and my soul.
So, I am embracing the softness in life, and I encourage you to do the same. We spend so much time being strong and putting up a wall between us and the world. What happens if we just embrace the softness, and revel in the kindnesses of life? The more you focus on the good stuff, the more good stuff you draw into your life. Embrace that good stuff. Keep it close.
~ Peace.
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