“You’re never going to find love if you keep wearing clothes like that,” my mother huffed as she walked by. I looked down at my clothes and sighed. Last week this same outfit had been approved by both my mother and stepfather. Their constant battle with the church meant that there was a constant battle with their faith. If they were in with the church, any item that don’t cover most of my body was inappropriate. When they were fighting with the church, I was allowed to wear halter tops, skirts and dresses. I never really knew week to week what their attitude and place in the church was going to be.
Mom could get mad during a sermon if she thought any part of it was directed at her or our family. Telling her I was embarrassed when we left in the middle of a sermon did no good. What anger she had left after being upset with the minister was directed toward me. I learned early on to buy my own clothes and just to change at school so no one was aware of what was going on at home and my parents were never aware that I changed. I knew clothing was not my biggest battle. I was reserving that energy toward college. I wanted to go big and they wanted me to go small. Small and close to home where they could watch my every move. No way in hell.
Standing Room Only 