Who's That Girl?

If you know me, then you know that for most of my life, my wardrobe has been predominantly black. I’d say about 99%.

No, it wasn’t just because I was the grieving widow. This started long before — back in my early teens. And now, as I continue to embrace all the changes in my new life, I find myself reflecting on where it all began and why I leaned into that direction.

For me, black became a shield at a pivotal time. As a young teenager, I became hyper-aware, self-conscious, and uncomfortable in my own skin. I wasn’t the tiny girl. I developed sooner than others. I didn’t want attention — in fact, I feared it. So I turned to black.

Black was known as the most slimming colour — and of course, as a thicker girl, I gravitated toward anything that might make me feel “less.” Black was the colour that faded into the background — perfect for the shy girl who didn’t want to be seen when walking into a crowded room.

I remember a conversation I had after my late husband passed. Someone joked that I looked like a traditional Italian nonna — already in black, as if I were preparing to wear it for the rest of my life. It stuck with me. Not because it was wrong, but because it had been true and for so many years. That was the old me.

But the new me? She’s taking leaps, bounds, and chances. She’s evolving. And this is one area where change has been especially meaningful.

So, slowly, I’ve started pulling in pieces — patterns, pops of colour, vibrant choices. Is it scary? Absolutely. It pushes me outside of my comfort zone. And yet… I like it. I’ve even been called out on it — “Who is this bright, colourful version of you?” And while I still get shy when all eyes turn toward me, the feedback has been warm, kind, and uplifting. So thank you to those people that have been encouraging me along this uncomfortable path.

My clothing is now reflecting what’s happening on the inside: happiness, light, cheer, joy.

So whether it’s my favourite pink, a bright yellow, a vibrant blue, or even white — I’m no longer automatically reaching for black. And you know what? It’s refreshing. It’s freeing. And I’m proud of her — the woman choosing colour, choosing herself, choosing love and happiness.

To anyone on your own grief journey: may you, too, find your way back to colour, in whatever form that takes.

Sending love and light. Always.

 xo LM