I opened the wardrobe and felt overwhelmed by my own clothes

Dear Delyara, Too tired in this one. Too old in that one. Too hard-trying in another. Too invisible in the black jumper. Too practical in the cardigan. Too much body. Not enough life. I stood there with a hanger in my hand feeling like I wasn’t choosing clothes at all, I was choosing which version of myself felt least difficult to carry for the evening. That is one of the strangest burdens of womanhood at this age. Identity fatigue. The quiet exhaustion of having to look like a coherent person while still not fully feeling like one on the inside. I got dressed. No one at the dinner would have guessed I had a small emotional crisis in front of a wardrobe first.