The past few times I’ve visited with family, my mom has made disparaging comments about my choices of clothing. I even try to tone it down a bit when I’m going to visit family, but that didn’t matter. There was always at least one moment every visit when my clothes became the object of Mom’s derision.

There are a lot of things I love about my mom. She has a lot of admirable qualities. But the insults about my clothes stick with me in a way that other people’s comments wouldn’t. 

Maybe there’s a part of all of us that makes choices based on what we think other people will think or say or do, rather than making choices based on what delights us and empowers us and gives us the fullest sense of being completely who we are. And there are surely some people whose reactions matter more to us than others.

Since I was going to see my mom during a recent trip, I decided to just take jeans and t-shirts. I didn’t want to be subjected to her disapproval of what I was wearing. I just wanted to have an enjoyable visit, and I made choices that didn’t let my sense of fashion enter into the equation.

We were all preparing to leave together on an outing, and my mom looked at the T-shirt I was wearing. It was a gray shirt with a big, red octopus. No sayings or branding. Just something simple and generic.

She asked, “Is that an octopus on your shirt?” 

I said, “Yep.” I pulled the front of my shirt taut so she could see the full image clearly.

“That’s weird,” she replied.

It suddenly dawned on me that it doesn’t really matter what I wear. And that hiding who we are doesn’t actually result in avoiding pain. But also, that some pain isn’t quite as severe as we think it might be. 

Because I am who I am, I goaded her a little bit by waxing eloquent about the amazing intelligence and creativity of octopi, and then we went on about our day. One carelessly expressed opinion didn’t need to be any more than that. After all, it wasn’t really about me. Or what I was wearing.

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