Reaffirming my personal style got me through the death of my child, divorce, and out of an abusive relationship.

I would wake up, open my closet doors, sit on the ground, and look up at the hems of my sweaters, skirts, dresses, and jackets. And cry. Silent, heavy heaves. Watering the carpet/wood/tile. Praying for joy. For the Steve Maddens/Via Speigas/Christian Louboutins to run me far away from the pain.

Then, I would start planning. In 2006, it was for an 11 am Church service. An Isaac Mizrahi for Target dress with a blazer and Oroblu flesh-hued micro fishnets. Canary Blue cable knit shell and white eyelet to honor my son.

In 2010, I styled myself for pictures to post on my website, transforming my direct-to-consumer handbag line into a wardrobe consulting business. Baby and husband weight gone.

Blues, lots of blues in my closet. Holding on to the memory of my son through color. Lots of skirts and blouses to wear to my higher-ed recruitment job and to church. Found my passion in thrift shopping. More friends to introduce, to play with.

Entered Seminary in 2019, and the pandemic happened soon after. Getting dressed every day was now a challenge for something to do. I was alone in a non-affirming environment. I challenged myself to get dressed every day to see the beauty in myself amid death. My closet held memory.

The formality of dressing for ministry, seminary, and speaking engagements was erased from life. Replaced with protest and what would turn out to be an abusive relationship. Canary Blue would once again hold me.

My Roger Vivier flats walked me through valleys, hills, and torturous roads. Supporting trauma in posh grace. A financial sacrifice, the shoes I put on when I want to walk barefoot into the depths of the ocean. The shoes that shift my mood, the culmination of my wardrobe over decades. The mature, mentoring bestfriend.

I built an altar to myself in my dressingroom. 7-year-old Jana reminded me she liked red. And texture. She, along with 14-year-old me, wanted permission to play with the fullness of our closet.

I’ve collected over 30 hats over the years, believing the accessory too formal for everyday life. I’ve accepted I’ve earned the arrogance to wear whatever the fuck I want wherever I go.

Red. The hue of passion and vitality. Life. What I wore the day after leaving an abusive relationship in June 2024. A vintage Norma Kamali dress I’ve overlooked for blue since 2011. Waiting for me to claim her to empower me.

I’ve earned my boldness. I’ve cried into the fabrics of my clothes for assistance with the dread of life. Dressing in my fullness is my answered prayer.

My best friend is me, dressed in the fullness of who I am. Without judgment but with full effort of what’s possible.

First published 2/13/2026