Life in Color
Adventures in leaving the dark behind
A few day ago, Sónia held a space for me for an Emotional Healing Process about how I kill my Aliveness, which I left in a big Liquid State, stumbling around the house and not really knowing what was real. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw myself in the mirror. I saw myself dressed in a gray shirt and black pants—pretty typical for how I’ve dressed myself every day for the last ten years. You see, almost all of the clothes I own are black, gray, or dark blue if I’m feeling adventurous. Black is a very functional color; a very practical color for a nomad and one that has always looked good with my coloring. It served me well in Paris, Berlin, and Warsaw—I could blend in very easily with the locals, which suited my purposes. But looking into that mirror, having just confronted some of the ways I kill my Aliveness, brought up deep sorrow.
I walked into the bedroom I have shared since being here and found Vera there. Within seconds of entering, I was in her arms, sobbing. When asked what my sadness was about, I heard myself say I was devastated because all my clothes are black. That even in my aliveness, the way that I adorn my body is dead and unalive. Vera offered for me to wear a yellow dress of hers for a few days, and I tearfully accepted. I put it on and looked in the mirror and collapsed into tears again. As it turns out, I’m beautiful in yellow.
A few days later, just as the sun was bursting through the clouds, the women of the Women Of Earth Bridge House piled into two cars and set off down the mountain roads with Rio as our destination. There was a loose plan: ride the cable cars to Pão de Açúcar for Danielle to confront her fear of heights, a brunch, a lazy afternoon at the beach near Copacabana, and (scariest for me) a thrift shopping excursion to find colorful clothes for me. When we left the brunch restaurant, I was overwhelmed to realize that the neighborhood we were in was full of thrift shops and street vendors, one on every corner.
I spent nearly four hours in various dressing rooms. Vera, Danielle and Anna were constantly throwing bright fabric over the door and more was pushed into my arms every time I went out to show what I had tried on. Bright colors and outrageous patterns and clothes that shook my Box to its core. It was outrageously fun. The stores we went into were filled with the sounds of the twelve Women Of Earth that had invaded the store talking and laughing, as each woman found an item or two for herself or another sister. Every time I saw my face in the mirror a beaming smile was looking back at me.
Every moment was an opportunity to radically rely on my Team. I got scared a lot over the course of this afternoon: in each item of clothing I could hear the voice of my mother and every advertisement and fashion editor telling me why I was ugly, why this particular shirt was not flattering on me, why I should never dare to wear anything like this. The team was constantly offering me reality checks, encouraging me to dive off the edge of my comfort zone, celebrating with me when I emerged from the dressing room blushing and in awe.
There was one shirt in particular that rattled my Box. Bright pink, long and flowing sleeves, and a very short crop. I hated it immediately, refused to even try it on. It was like nothing I had ever worn before and my Box recoiled from it. But the other women saw something in it that I could not. I tried to get out of trying it on and three women insisted that they needed to see me in it. I tried to convince them it would not fit and they still insisted. Finally, it was on me, and I could not stop myself from grimacing. I hated it, but every woman that saw me gasped. This told me that they were seeing something that I could not, and I reluctantly agreed to buy it.
I later tried to get out of buying it at the register—I had a very tight budget and it just pushed me over the edge of what I could spend on clothes (a very reasonable argument!). Lisa-Maria was with me and grabbed it from me before I could hand it back to the woman. She said “I will buy this for you and you will wear it.” I was stunned—she was taking a stand for something in me that I was (and still am) blind to. I tearfully accepted, overwhelmed by her love for me.
In my black clothing I could fade into the shadows, clothe myself in them even. I could become nothing—not the Nothing from which everything blooms, but a survival void. A blank canvas upon which others could project their light. In a burnt orange dress I cannot deny that I am a Warrioress. In a pink shirt with long flowing sleeves I am a Sourceress. In every item I was a woman radically relying on her team, being shaken apart by their love for me. Now, I am the proud owner of a rainbow of color: bright blues and yellows and reds and oranges and pinks and greens. And I feel that much more alive.
