When I was little my mom made a lot of my clothes. And when we bought my clothes, I had one major criteria… That when I spin around the skirt would fly up, like a top… like a ballerina.

While I know now that little girl and this adult are autistic and the spinning and love of clothing that fit loose and spin just right were hallmarks of autism – in the 80s – I was just another quirky girl with a certain penchant for a certain kind of clothing.

The problem is – life and pressure took their toll. I LOVE a good dress. Omygosh, I could swim in the sensation of soft fabric swishing around my legs. I don’t like to show – so the skirt must cover my knees; I hate my muscles which are hard earned, so the arms and shoulders have to minimize that I’m built stronger than most girls my size. Jeans. Ugh. Don’t get me started on their itchy tight seams that never quite fit right. Leggings that show your bum. Seriously? does the world need to see all.of.that.?

I hate my fears.

I can spend a night on Thredup, looking at second-hand clothes, discarded gorgeous soft fabrics that, new, were well beyond my means.

I studied at length a dusky rose dress, halter cut, length just right, cut exactly to my short petite frame; fabric just right for a good swish when walking… but. It’s probably a bridesmaid dress. While relatively plain, still too ‘fancy’ for even church wearing.

So – as someone who learned all too young and all too well the value of not standing out because, omygosh, everything I do seems to mark me as just a little odd; would all you gorgeous ladies (and you are ALL gorgeous!!!) just bloody hell step out in gorgeous clothes every day so I can join in?

I don’t mean the half naked look the teenagers favor. My thighs would put the men to shame considering the miles and miles I run and hike every week. No, no. I mean, let’s be beautiful. Let’s wear clothing that our skin aches to be clothed in. That drapes our bodies to make us feel gorgeous. That spins, and flows and accentuates all that makes us, as women lovely.

And then I can feel free to wear the clothing that makes my skin sing without also feeling embarrassed for loving such pretty, lovely things so very much.

As usual, written off the cuff, not edited. I don’t have time for that. I have a thred-up cart to audit and decide what pretty lovely thing can I justify for my next office meeting or church Sunday attire…

Be beautiful. You already are!