Mango trench
Zara trousers (similar)
Rouje boots (similar)
Celine handbag
Dior scarf (similar)
Celine sunglasses
Location: Saint Peter’s Square – Rome, Italy
I started Coco & Vera to share outfits. I needed a creative outlet, and a justification for my enthusiastic shopping habit. But it quickly became my place to share stories and opinions, too. Over the past decade, I’ve spoken openly about getting elective surgery, ending a long-term friendship less than gracefully and struggling with perfectionism. I don’t shy away from sharing my politics, anymore than I would hesitate to wax poetic about a beautiful but wildly expensive pair of shoes. I like to tell myself that nothing is off limits, no matter how controversial or personal it might be. But that’s a lie, because there’s one subject that I’ve studiously avoided all this time.
…it seems genuinely absurd, but I typing this is a struggle. I’ve drafted and redrafted these paltry lines half a dozen times. They still don’t feel right.
It seems absurd because I’m not shy in my life, just like I’m not shy in print. Assertive is an adjective that’s often used to describe me. Vocal comes up, too. I take a certain amount of pride in that; in refusing to shrink to fit space that others are willing to make for me, in choosing not to hold myself back because a version of me that is quieter and “nicer” might be more palatable for some people. It’s a sign of strength, I think. And a sign of growth, because there was a time when I was the opposite of that person, a scenario where I completely lost my voice and my agency. It took me years of effort and anguish to come back from that place; to become who I wanted to be, because I understood so clearly, almost viscerally, who I didn’t want to be.
That’s the subject I’ve avoided bringing up. And even if I’d ever dared to raise it, the words to address and explain it are hard to find, still, after twenty years. Words, which normally come so easily for me. They fail me utterly on this subject. It doesn’t seem to matter how much time passes, or how much distance I put between myself and that part of my life. I still don’t know where to start. I was able to find my voice again, eventually. Which means I can speak up for myself now. Set boundaries. Say no. But when it comes to when and how I lost my voice in the first place, why I needed to work to get it back, my default remains silence. I have no words.
There are many things that Hemingway and I don’t agree on. But he had a point about writing, I’ll give him that.
So, why now? Why bring it up at all, after avoiding it for so long, especially if all you’re going to do is talk around it, saying it’s hard to find the words to describe it but never actually explaining what “it” is? Couldn’t you just keep this one thing to yourself? These questions run through my mind on repeat as I try to organize my thoughts into this post. The truth is I don’t know, exactly, except that it seems important to finally find the words to express what I’ve held back for so long, even if it’s hard. Or maybe because I know it will be. Maybe because no matter how much I grow, I won’t feel like I’ve bloomed until I can confront this mess honestly… acknowledge it, accept it and its lasting impact… and finally move on.
I don’t know what comes next, but there’s a story that I need to write – I’m just trying to find the words.
