I stood at my wardrobe and had no idea who I wanted to look like

Dear Delyara, I had a work thing in the evening, not formal enough to justify dressing up, not casual enough to wear whatever, and I stood there holding two tops and feeling unexpectedly emotional. Because it wasn’t only about clothes. It was about identity. About age. About the woman I thought I would become versus the woman standing there tired on a Thursday trying to look competent, warm, not too tired, not too old, not trying too hard, not invisible. I eventually got dressed. I looked fine. Nobody at the event would have guessed I had been having a small quiet crisis in front of my wardrobe. But I was. Because sometimes womanhood is exactly that — trying to find a face for a life you are still not fully sure you recognise.