The iron hissed over a work blouse and I thought how much effort goes into looking “fine”

Dear Delyara, I was ironing something simple. A blouse. Nothing special. And yet I suddenly felt emotional about the whole performance of adulthood. The smoothing, the preparing, the presenting. Making sure the clothes say capable even when the body feels tired and the mind has already started worrying about the rest of the day. There is something exhausting about having to look composed before you have even had the chance to become composed. The blouse came out neat. That part was easy. What felt harder was knowing I would wear it into rooms where no one would see the person who ironed it with a heavy heart and an overfull mind.