It’s that ole devil again.
You know, the one called Doubt?
I don’t know about you, friend, but of late, I’ve feel as though my soul is under constant siege. Assailed from all directions by those scheming deviants known as fear and self destruction. Tell me I’m not the only one who goes through periods of ups and downs where my insecurities are concerned?
Here I thought I was finally (FINALLY) letting go of the things which have been holding me back all these years. Taking (tentative) steps forward. Headed toward what was hopefully a better place. Then, boom boom pow. Out of nowhere, I find myself repeating old patterns,
holding desperately clutching onto negative beliefs, letting the opinions and words of others derail my self worth.
WORST, NOT TREATING MYSELF WITH LOVE OR RESPECT
Dress, gifted (eShakti) (use code “sheelagoh” for 10% off your order) | Suede Heels (Ami Clubwear) | Purple Dior Sunnies, Embellished Black Leather Collar & Rings (thrifted) | Metallic Champagne Leather Cuff, gifted (Unearthed)
Tell me that happens even to the most optimistic of us?
It’s such an awful feeling, isn’t it? For those of us who are members of this club, it’s a sickening sensation in the pit of the tummy. A steady inability to breathe. A sensation of moving in a comatose fashion may or may not be present.
Is that how it feels for you?
When doubt gets the upper hand?
It is for me.
And I’m fully aware that should I let it continue, those feelings of doubt and insecurity would (very happily) stay. The problem is when the universe smacks us with these old behaviors, it’s just so easy, so comfortable to slip into those familiar territories of, “But I was doing so well” and “Why me?“
So easy to slide in. So hard to climb out.
HARD AS HELL
I we do? What can we do to pull ourselves out of this rut called doubt? Because it is a rut. It isn’t permanent but it most certainly will stay for as long as we allow it to take over our minds and our hearts and our spirits.
I suppose a good start would be to believe that I am worthy of my own desires? That it’s quite alright to say no sometimes. Or to say yes. To be seen. And to be loved for what is seen. To hear the words, “please” and “thank you“. To articulate my deepest needs without shame or embarrassment or a sense of guilt. In spite of the knowledge that guilt is an inevitable beast in my life, no matter that it’s more often than not both irrational as well as unfounded. And to have my deepest needs met.
To have time to think about it. And not be rushed. To have a chance to show what I’m made of and not be assessed, judged, found wanting, then compartmentalised and forgotten. Worthy of a second chance. Of changing my mind.
In truth, I have no bloody idea if any of these thoughts will actually take root or work. Or if they’re naught but a futile move on my part to achieve some semblance of a placebo-induced state of contentment. But I do know that if I don’t at least attempt something, I’ll let doubt run me to the ground. Eviscerate my (already paltry) sense of self-worth. And lose my spirit in the process. And I can’t have that. I really can’t afford it. It’s far too costly an experience, and I know you know I don’t mean dollars and cents.
So, the glossing over stops right now. When shit hits the fan and I’m feeling out of sorts, I’m going to accept it’s happening. Rather than digging a hole in the ground and pretending everything is alright. I know, I know, what I just said reads as being super flaky and near impossible but then again, that counsel is the core of all healing mantras. No longer will I deny what’s occurring because the power to change the status quo comes from firstly accepting it. Oh, I’m certain I’ll rant, and I’ll cuss, and there’ll be several hissy fits. I can’t believe this is happening again. WTF. This sucks. I’m so humiliated. I need to punch someone. F*** f*** f***!!!!
I accept that I, that we can’t instantly hop, skip and jump from pain to happiness. I may be optimistic but certainly not delusional (yet). However, I firmly believe we can indeed go from pain to happiness, consciously, and that we’re in control of the speed with which this transpires. Yes, we can, but there are steps, a healing sequence. One that differs from soul to soul, yes, with the cornerstones being that we begin by respecting ourselves through looking at the pain. We permit ourselves to feel the pain. We look forward to change. And we allow the healing to begin.
With those words, I’m ever so delighted to present to you today, the September edition of Project Sister Act and five visual stories of how we (women spanning teens, 20s, 30s, 40s, and 50s) thumb up our noses at societal expectations when it comes to the clothes we wear. In this month’s showcase, we’re all dolled up (quite literally) in the maxi dress. Now, classic though the general silhouette of a maxi may be, I think you’ll discover that we’ve all gone above, and far beyond mundane, predictable or boring, in how we’ve portrayed our looks.
Is it any surprise both Eve and I love and relate to Belle most out of all the Disney womenfolk? I mean, the opinionated feisty temperament and bookworm tendencies notwithstanding, of course, cough. Which is why I absolutely adore how Eve has achieved a contemporary Belle vibe, without in the least bit appearing costumey or kiddish, in that heavenly concoction of a dress. Tulle and embroidery and lace, oh my.
Elizabeth (lizzie in lace)
Does anyone else feel as though they’re gazing upon a real life princess? Seriously, Kate, move over. I don’t know about you but Elizabeth constantly always reminds me of Rapunzel. With the golden locks and dreamy dresses and a world wherein unicorns, rainbows, and turrets exist. And this pink dress she’s got on here is no different. It’s pretty, she’s pretty. It’s pink, I like pink. And there’s embroidery. We love embroidery.
Vanessa (what would v wear)
And the prize for best photo ever goes to Vanessa!! Just take a moment to soak it all in. I did. From the coronet of flowers around her hair to that gorgeous contrast the field of weed and grass creates as a backdrop to that ethereal dress. Which, incidentally, is a clever pairing of peachy pink maxi with creamy cropped sweater. Peer a little closer and behold in the glory of those lush pleats of the dress. Delightful.
Me (sheela writes)
Me, in my maxi. Never did I think those words would come together in the one same statement. Being vertically challenged at 5ft, I’ve steered clear of lengthier hemlines (and billowy skirts) my entire life but this piece … it called to me.
Anna (anna’s island style)
Regal. That’s the only word I can think of to describe Anna’s gown (yes, gown). It beckons to mind the rustling of taffeta skirts, and gentle clinking of champagne flutes, and the resplendence of a ballroom. And whilst it is indeed a beauty, the story behind Anna’s inspiration and reason for donning this spectacular green piece, is even more poignant. Sweet and poignant. Go have a read.
And that, my friends, is Project Sister Act for September 2016. My heartfelt thanks go to each and every single woman in this line-up. You are loved.
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p/s my photos are by Sofia Touassa
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