Wearing More Red

As a child I had to attend the local Methodist Sunday school. Twice a day. Before leaving for church, my mother insisted I had to change pants. Red ones for the outside world of religious propriety. Dark navy pants for the inside world of home. Same ritual, morning and afternoon.  

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This ‘changing pants’ obsession was a way of separating her two worlds. Red for the good, ’godly’ life. Dark navy for the ‘secret’ life. As a child I never understood this crazy behaviour, nor did I question it. Maybe I thought this was normal.  Something we all had to endure to placate our crazy parents. She described it as something to do with being clean for Sunday school. Red for God, twice a day. The ‘dirt’ of the inside that she was always trying to eradicate couldn’t be allowed to escape outside, at least not in my underpants.

Those of you who have read my book, ‘Wearing Red - One Woman’s Journey to Sanity’  will know that I was sexually abused as a child by my father. This was our family secret.

Today red has become my favourite colour. I made myself stand outside the secret. I’ve declared my truth, spoken my shame and put a great deal of time and money into healing myself.

I do wonder why very few people wear red. Red represents warmth, vitality, heat, passion, movement. A stirring of the imagination. As well as anger, that red flash we all experience when the blood is stirred.

I feel ALIVE when I wear red. The colour gives me potential, possibilities, choices. This colour says: “Notice me. I’m not to be ignored. I matter. I’m alive. I claim my space.”

When I turned 50, I decided I was going to become a version of the ‘Wise Crone’ to honour my age, experience and wisdom. Go natural. No longer needed the protection of bright colours. I stopped dyeing my hair red. Grey was welcome. I imagined a new form of myself - a natural shiny, silver-haired individual, with flowing skirts, still stylish but no longer bold. I wore browns, beiges, muted greens.

My hair emerged not stylish white, but an uninviting, murky brown with salt & pepper grey streaks. This new version of myself I’d created was not welcome. I seemed to imbibe the neutrality of these clothes devoid of colour. Energy drained. My vitality had been stolen by my outer garments.

Felt ‘less than,’ unnoticed, ignored. As if, like my mother, I could disappear into the wallpaper. Sought advice from friends. The majority opinion agreed with my perception.

‘Bring back the red person’, was the verdict. That experiment hit the bin.

Of course, I could be wearing red as a suit of armour to cover up a deep-rooted insecurity. As a source of safety. Maybe this passion for colour is a defence against turning into my mother? For most of the time I knew her she remained nondescript, hiding to remain unnoticed. Wearing red might be a reaction to my past.  However, this protection - if it is protection - is one I enjoy.

Marsha Hunt made a TV documentary about her experience surviving breast cancer. She said that what kept her spirits up through the long haul of chemotherapy and radiation, losing her huge mane of hair, and being minus one breast, was applying her bright red lipstick, every day without fail.

“Because it made me feel better,” she said. 

That made sense. Red in any shape or form is uplifting. When I put on a red jacket, skirt, scarf or earrings and the lipstick, I immediately feel stronger. I can face the world.

Wearing red, with my flaming scarlet hair, I feel bold. I feel better. 

I wrote this poem to express my passion for wearing red.

 

WEARING RED

I am red.  I am Ruby.

I am red. I am Ruby.

As Ruby

I am

 

Fiery.

Passionate.

Alive.

 

Bright.

Vibrant.

Beautiful.

 

A wild red-spirited dancing fashionista.

 

This is who i am.

This style.

This colour.

This choice.

 

The choosing matters

I walk tall.

 

I am red. I am Ruby.

 

As Ruby

I shine and glimmer.

Shimmy my hips as I walk

Sexual and sassy.

 

I can conquer the world

in my hip hugging

sparkly sequin-festooned

deep red dress.

 

I am here.

I am red.

I am ruby.

 

As Kaffe Fassett said: “When in doubt add more colour.”

During the Second World War, the British government was aware of the psychological research that colour can have a positive effect on our emotions, heightening our sense of ourselves, helping us feel more powerful.

To fly in the face of the German threat to the country and raise spirits in order to help win the battle, they wanted to encourage women to wear bright colours and be stylish. They enlisted the help of Vogue magazine with their ‘Colour in Austerity’ campaign. Looking good became a metaphor for escaping the victim mentality.

Their argument was that wearing grey and black would make us feel low and defeated. If we all wore colour and well-designed clothes, we would feel better about ourselves. The nation’s spirits would be raised, and this would help people feel confident that the threat of German invasion could be overcome.Their propaganda message was: ‘Wear bright colours and we can win the war.’  

Likewise, wearing vivid colours can help remind you of your energy and vitality.

Wearing red helps me remember that I am a red-headed, red- spirited fashionista. This colour is my choice. The choosing matters. Wearing red helps me walk tall and feel OK in my own skin.

If you’re feeling low or less than, try stepping out in some red and see what happens.

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Developing Loving Kindness For Yourself (Part Two)