I wear black on black on black, and then, if I’m feeling adventurous, more black.

I only wear black clothing. Okay, occasionally a garment will have white/grey stripes or something, but 99% of the time, it’s straight black.

Over the least year to year and a half, there has been a lot of speculation as to why I do this. Folks have assumed that I hate all colors, that it’s an act of cultural rebellion, etc.

On one of the four times I wore color (yes, four times in 1.5 years – not counting a neutral tan cardigan I occasionally wore for like two months), a woman who never speaks to me approached me to say something like: “You look good in green. This is your color, not black. It’s time to stop grieving.”

I literally died laughing that day.

*Literally was herein used for sardonic affect rather than for its actual meaning.

Here’s the thing, none of the afore mentioned assumptions are correct. Well, I do enjoy the accidental side effect of cultural rebellion… but that’s not the point.

There are two reasons why I wear black. And believe it or not, neither of them are because I’m a minimalist (although everything matching and therefore needing fewer clothes is a HUGE plus – ten/ten recommend).

  1. I sweat a lot. It’s a trait I inherited from my dad. Sweat pits give me the creeps, ergo, I wear black.
  2. I get, like, bad anxiety when I wear color. Ergo, I wear black.

Over the years, I started to notice a trend with myself. When I wore colorful outfits, the world felt too… loud. I started integrating neutrals, and then slowly shifted to only black, and suddenly the world felt quieter.

I have a very loud, obnoxious, passionate, annoying (I think wonderful) personality. Part of it is that I love basically everything and experience it all with a ridiculous amount of zeal and an overabundance of wonderment.

Food isn’t just something to eat; it has an emotion and a heart. French fries are literally my boyfriend; coffee is my soulmate. Museum’s aren’t just a place of knowledge, but a portal into another realm. Movie theaters are an out of body experience. Music is more magic than oxygen. A full moon makes me fly and a sunset can bring me to tears for the sheer beauty.

I don’t just hang out with friends, I belt songs with them and explore with them, and fight for them, and dream with them.

I don’t just sing praises to God, I smile and dance and shout and float in His presence.

Rain gives my heart wings!  And snow.. well, snow actually leaves me speechless.

The point is: I LIVE FOR LIFE.

(I’m an ENFP. If you know anything about Myers-Briggs, you’re nodding with sudden understanding.)

It’s just so dang glorious and exciting.

But it’s also a lot. Like.. a lot. And sometimes dealing with it is extra hard.

Wearing black is like painting myself in a blank canvas. With the magic stroke of pure nothingness, I can design my world through my words and actions, rather than through my dress. People don’t get to decide if I’m funky or athletic or eclectic or classy by the color of my clothes. They have to stick around and figure it out through my personality.

And my personality is a loud mouth.

So my clothing can’t be.

To quote my sister Sarah:

“Some people are really obnoxious and they wear a lot of color, so it’s… like… too much. You’re really, really obnoxious. But since you wear black, it’s not as bad.”


Black is like a warm cozy blanket. It makes me feel grounded and connected, when the rest of me is freaking out. When I wear something with color, I feel like everything about me is just too much, for others and for myself. Emotions become too heightened, the world begins to look like a Picasso painting as my brain starts to spazz out. I feel breathless and spun out of control, like I’m floating rapidly away and my tether has been snapped.

In color, I feel unnatural, intimidated by both myself and the world around me.

I become un-me.

This probably seems soooooo dramatic. But if you’ve ever dealt with anxiety, you understand. Sometimes we just need a rope to cling to, whether we’re conscious of it or not. Something that tames the mad beating of the heart, calms the racing rivers of the mind. For me, that comfort comes in black clothing.

I wear black on black on black, and then, if I’m feeling adventurous, more black.


I think we can agree on this. Time apart has done us well.

Glimpses of you sporadically reveal themselves to me. And each time it is a sucker punch to see you. Happy, healthy. A good sucker punch, as much as one can be. Yes, my heart seizes and my stomach lurches and the blood rushes to my brain.. but once all of that has calmed down, there is a gentle knowingness. The truth that together we were dying, and apart we are healing.

I cannot say I’ve let go of you. I think of you often, in my wakefulness and sleep. What are you doing? How are you fairing? Who are you becoming?

I am no longer privy to this information and I fight the urge to see if I can get it through the internet.

It’s not my job to care anymore.

And to another point, I know whatever is on there won’t be real. We never revealed the truth of our thoughts and feelings and circumstance in such a public fashion.

Even as the days get easier and the aches get further apart, I still sit in shocked silence when I realize it’s only been a handful of months, a couple of seasons. Barely any time at all, and with just a glimpse of your image, I’m thrown right back to where we were.

Under the night sky, the haze of smoke, the fire of your hand on mine. The emotion of love swallowing us in the midst of the audience surrounding.

Then again, under a different night sky. Your hand tugging mine, our lips briefly touching, the moment over in an instant.

My first true kiss and I barely felt it.

You were already gone.

And I was alone.


“Why would you want to be with anyone you only fight with?”

It’s been asked of me every time you come up in conversation with the few who knew that we ever were an “us.” I usually say that the passion, even if merely anger, was my reason for lingering as you weaved in and out of my life.

But that’s not all there is to it.

And we both know that I did my own fair share of weaving.

Maybe no one will ever know the depths of what we shared, the rope we extended to each other – at first pulling upward, then tumbling down.

The reason we had to sever it.

Maybe not even we.

But no matter what it was the brought us together and tore us apart…

I hope you know all that I think and feel and hope for you is goodness and freedom and joy.

Happy Birthday, Mr. MTBR.

I pray this is your best year yet.


A Whole New Wooooooorld!

I cannot even begin to describe the way my life has changed since God healed me of Fibromyalgia. There literally are not enough words, but here are a few to give you an idea of the new me:

  • I actually have energy throughout the day
  • My brain feels clear, there isn’t even a minor haze around the edges
  • With a clear brain has returned the desire to DO THINGS again- my schedule is BOOKED
  • I don’t have pain, like, at all.. I had a minor headache the other day, but it was literally nothing in comparison to days of old
  • I’m still awake after 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, AND EVEN 11pm
  • The best part to date: I’ve started EATING MEAT AGAIN (glory be!!!) without throwing up

On the topic of meat- I was ready to cry as I partook of chicken again for the first time in roughly two years. Sweet, darling, dear chicken. Oh how I have missed your meaty essence.

It’s hilarious, I now have options again when eating out. The other day I was contemplating what drive thru to go through for my usual “fries only” order. I was headed to McDonald’s and had to drive past KFC to get there. “I wish I could eat popcorn chicken,” floated through my brain as I came upon the smells-delightful-franchise. Then I figuratively gave myself a good punch in the head. Popcorn chicken WAS an option! I quickly turned into the parking lot and what followed was a heavenly feast.

I seriously can’t get over it.

Also with my healing came the normal body routines from waaaay back in the day. I’m a night owl again, and mornings have gone back to sucking. I’m working to readjust this as I miss waking up before the sun to enjoy a good book and coffee prior to work. BUT, I don’t miss WHY I woke up before the sun, so even if I never get back to this routine – I can deal.

Anyway, this is just a short post to respond to curious folks who have been asking if the healing lasted. I’m still feeling GRRRRREAT! The healing was for real and legit and permanent – no rebounds. 🙂

How’s your week been so far?

A Whole New Wooooooorld!