However, my sweetlings for New Years 2019 I broke away from that. I was determined to go into the year as I meant to live it. “Start as you mean to go on”, right? So for the first time ever I dressed myself up full glam - hair, makeup and cute as hell outfit. The big difference with this look and the looks in previous years was that I didn’t stifle anything. I didn’t dress myself to make sure I wouldn’t make anyone uncomfortable or take into consideration what anyone may say about my choice of clothing but guess what? Even though I loved it all and felted gorgeous - I couldn’t enjoy it. I felt bad. I felt shame. There was a part of my brain screaming at me:
“WHORE! LOOK AT YOURSELF PARADING AROUND LIKE THAT! You attention seeking tart. Displaying your body like its an exhibition”. I made myself feel guilty for making myself look nice because it was “too nice”. Why was I drawing attention to myself?! How dare I not hide myself? Who was I trying to impress? Was I trying to catch the wrong attention? Then I sat and thought about it because that’s what I do when I’ve got lots of questions now - not just hold them in my chest for them to eat me up. I ask them out loud and I answer them. Why was I dressing like this? “Because I want to” I heard myself say. Who was I doing it for? “Myself... but also my husband”. Why was I drawn attention to myself and why wasn’t I hiding? “BECAUSE WHY THE FUCK NOT?” My heart screamed. I shouldn’t have to nor do I want to. And so I shan’t. I have decided that this year I motherfucking well am being me - in all my grown ass woman glory. I refuse to make myself smaller, cover myself up, be quieter, be less sexual, less sweary, wear less dark colours, wear less bright colours, do or be less anything. I am not lesser than and will not continue to allow myself to live in a box of someone else’s making just because I’m used to it. I’m climbing out of that box, dousing it in petrol and setting it alight with a cigarette after I take my last pull and walking away from the flames with Cardi B playing on the background. I can make myself whatever I want. I can be whatever kind of woman I desire, maybe I’ll emulate the women I desire. I can be whatever kind of wife I chose to be. I can be whatever mother I want to be as long as my child is happy, loved and cared for by me. I am lucky enough to have friends who support me in everything because they know me and know I just want to be happy.My outfits will from now on reflect who I as a person. If you want to put your own meaning behind that, be my fucking guest, I’ll even get you a pen and paper. My hemline isn’t anyone’s concern and if you decide to make it yours then, BOO THATS UR ISSUE. My neckline has nothing to do with you and if you wanna metaphorically get all up in it, I’ll tell you fuck off. The snug fit of my clothes and height on my heels are my business and I run a fucking tight ship, bitches. You don’t like it, well that makes absolutely no difference to me.
I am a adult. With that comes the ability and choice to make decisions for myself uninhibited by the thoughts of others past or present. If I want to wear a mini skirt and a low cut top, guess the fuck what? I will. If I wanna wear dark lipstick and nails, guess what? I WILL. If I wanna wear a leather jacket and “look like a prostitute”? GUESS WAT HUN I WILL. BECAUSE NO I DONT LOOK LIKE A HOOKER. ITS A LEATHER JACKET FFS NOT A FLASHING RED NEON SIGN. I’m even gunna get more piercings, I don’t care that they’re not ladylike - I have no desire to be ladylike, ALSO LADY IS JUST A SYNONYM FOR WOMAN. How can I not me a woman? I identify as one, so I am one. I am my own ladylike. I want more tattoos because my body is mine to mark and in my life other people have been more than happy to leave their fucking unwanted marks on it - why have bruises been allowed to damage my skin but a bit of ink is too much? Why have I had dents put in my head but a few holes in my ears is abhorrent? I will not allowed anyone to play creative director in my story anymore. My body and my life are the canvas upon which I may express myself and for the first time in my life I will with unbridled rage and pure freedom allow myself to fucking create and paint. No one else is allowed to pick the colours and tell me where to paint. No one else is allowed to have input on how I carve out my style. No one else will “suggest” or “advise” unless I explicitly request them to. NO ONE ELSE GETS TO PLAY MAKEBELIEVE WITH ME. Go buy a fucking Cindy doll if that’s the game you want to play. I’m busy. I am not an extension of any other person. I am not a representative of anyone else. I am no ambassador for any fucking organisation. I am Monica. I chose my name. I am my own person I will chose who that is. This year I intend to live up to the new standard I hold for myself. So if at any point this year you observe me wearing something you don’t like, saying something you don’t approve of, doing something you’ve told me not to, please know unwaveringly and deep in your soul that I most definitely remember exactly what you said and yes I am deliberately being disobedient. I am very meticulously recreating the opposite of what I was told to do because I want nothing to do with your version of me. I want to be insubordinate because I’ve spent far too long jumping when told, rolling over and playing door mat to people who are undeserving of my loyalty. I am trying to piss you off. I am wanting to make sure you know I don’t care. I want to be whatever you tell me not to be. Don’t tell me how I feel, ever. Don’t tell me how to be. Do not expect me to live up to any of your expectations or aspirations. Do not tell me how to be me. This is my own little revolution. I intend to see it to the end and when I look in the mirror a year from now be hella fucking proud of the person I am.Love, Monica xxx
