Grief Dressing

No, this is not about salad toppings for sad people. ;)

From those first days last summer I have thought about clothes in relation to grief.

Color~
In the old days, people "wore mourning" when someone died. There were specific rules, a general understanding about what was worn, and by whom, and for how long. For a spouse, a woman would usually go into full-black clothing, sometimes also with a heavy black veil. Anyone who saw her knew at a glance what she was going through. For someone less closely connected a man might wear a black arm band or hat band; a woman might wear gray or lavender clothing-the shade being lighter or darker, depending on the closeness of relationship.

I think that there was a real benefit to that system. Anyone could tell at a glance that here was someone in need of extra kindness and understanding. It was also a way to show respect to the person who was gone; to honor their memory.

Now, there's no real way to do that; no simple visible way to let the world know you're suffering.

I actually did look online to see if there are just, like...."I'm grieving" buttons or something.

There are.

But looking at them, it seemed too flippant for the depth of my loss; too cutesy.

For the first several weeks, I did my own private version of mourning clothes. I wore a lot of black and dark gray, dark burgundy. I didn't go out and buy new clothes, but just chose things I already owned in those colors that fit how I felt.

Later, I started to wear the broader range of colors in my usual wardrobe, but in those first weeks the dark colors just felt right. I wanted strong outward evidence of the heavy load my heart carried. It was one of the things I did to honor the private state of my heart, and it felt right to me. It helped.

Comfort~ 
I was already fairly invested in the comfort of my clothes, but that shifted to a whole new level in the wake of Michael's death. I was in such unbearable emotional pain that my body could not stand any level of extra pain or discomfort.

In that place, I needed physical comfort in a deep way. The shock and grief were so intense that I felt like my molecules were barely hanging together; as if my physical and mental self might disintegrate into jagged shards and go spinning away into the storm.

I could not handle uncomfortable clothes.

I wore only soft things that did not bind or constrict anywhere. With every nerve in my body in high panic from the shock, my skin needed only the softest things touching it.

This went on for a long time.

There came a day when I suddenly lost all patience with any of my underwear that were too small or that rode up or bagged, or just caused me annoyance in any way. There was so much incredibly big, unbelievably hard stuff in my life that I could not stand having basic garments that added to my burden in even the smallest way.

I threw out half of my underwear. Yes, it was sort of a dramatic, "I am DONE with you!!!" moment... which also made me smile at myself for making such a scene over underwear. And I ordered new ones, making sure to get the size and style that work best for me, in colors that I like.

I also treated myself to a couple new pairs of socks; the special ones with the thick, cushy soles. They're like walking on little pillows, and they're really soft inside. It was like giving my feet a hug.

One of the most important things I have done through this whole time was to be very loving toward myself. As I shared the other day, I made sure to eat things that felt soothing to my soul. I also saw the value in making sure every part of me, from my bum to my toes, was only touched by  comfort, surrounded by softness.

Every aspect of my being sustained such a severe and lasting shock that I have needed to give thought to every kind of mental, emotional or sensory input. My systems were on extreme overload and none of them could handle anything jarring or abrasive.

Soft, gentle, comforting and comfortable. These were the things that I needed.

~~~~~

Easy, comfy clothes and underwear that do not annoy.
These made a difference in my ability to cope with this intensely hard journey.

Who has time for underwear that add insult to injury?