I'm really a jeans and t-shirt kinda gal. When those jeans don't require a belt, I'm in my happy place. I have had enough pregnancies to know the value of clothes I can schlep around the house in. I also know that when I start to get comfortable wearing yoga pants or sweats outside, it all runs downhill, and I stop caring about other things too. I'm not super high maintenance in the makeup department. I wear makeup, but aside from my eyes and lips and a little blush, the rest of my face gets moisturizer. I keep it simple.
In the mornings when I wake up, I put on a pair of heels and walk around. I have a sister that loves shopping and I always benefit from her closet. I have more heels than I know what to do with and they aren't practical. Once I'm dressed and my makeup is on, I walk around my house in heels because it's an ego boost. Try it. You'll like it.
This morning, I was still in my heels when the ex brought the kids over. He was in a mood and that always gets directed at me. He said I looked like a slut in my hooker heels. Then he was angry because I was laughing at him. What can I say? It was funny to me. I decided to wear my heels out today. I'm walking around in heels that are maybe about 5 inches. I'm already 5'6" and I feel like I could be part giant, but it's working. The people at work seem to dig them.
I find myself in a mood tonight and these thoughts won't leave me alone until I purge. It's a follow up post to another post about my comfort zones.
As amused as I was about the ex's anger, I was yelled at and slut shamed in front of our younger sons. It was a moment of anger from him, amusement from me, and then my shock at the look of helplessness on my 9 year old's face. I held him and assured him I was fine, and that mom isn't actually dumb or a slut. I told him Daddy just needs to learn better ways to express his anger. At the same time, I see the example he's given and the thought that I have to figure out how to fix the damage being done was overwhelming this morning. It was in telling my son that Mommy isn't what Daddy called me and shoes have nothing to do with what we choose to do that I decided I would wear the heels to work.
There's a sense of entitlement that weighs on me in bouts of doubt. When I decided to stop looking for companionship online, I had already ended a few conversations with people I just wasn't interested in, or they moved on. It was pleasant enough that I didn't feel the need to block everyone. Just 12 or so people. I deleted contact information for the rest. I love myself enough that if you ignore me and move on, you have to be really amazing or cute to have an open invitation. Random texts much later tell me you are lonely and hoping I might bite at a limp carrot. It was a wonderful day when a conversation shifted my perspective enough to stop dating online, and I haven't looked back fondly since then. I've written so many posts on how horrible online dating was for me.
My point is, it's not the shoes that make you a slut. It's not what you wear, or how you look, but the choices you make.
When the choice to share your body is taken from you, you still aren't asking for anything other than to look the way that makes you feel good. You are not deserving of any ill treatment. No one asks to be raped, or catcalled. No one wants to be whistled at like a dog. It's not okay to judge a person by what they wear or don't wear, or how they walk or the way they flirt.
I am a woman with real thoughts, feelings, and dreams. I want to be loved deeply, and madly. Being roughed up by life might make it easier to deal with the peaks and valleys, but it doesn't make that a first or second choice. I want to be thought of first, and not as an afterthought. I want to have meaningful connections, and you won't see that or be open to it if you can't or won't see past what I wear or how I walk, or the confidence I manufacture from within me each and every morning.