It was never about the dress…..

“I felt dreadfully inadequate. The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn’t thought about it.”- Sylvia Plath

When I was young child – dawats (family gatherings) used to be a thing for me.   

It was a late Saturday afternoon, my mammy (aunt) hosted a dawat. I was excited to escape the suffocation of the house I’m living in.  

I remember arriving at mammy’s house—the air was buzzing with chatter, relatives weaving in and out of rooms, loud laughter echoing off the walls. As I stepped into the crammed living room, my eyes scanned around, searching for my cousin.

And then I spotted her….

She wore this dark burgundy velvet dress with lace-trimmed edges.

 A sinking feeling filled my chest as I glanced down at my own dress.

Clinging onto my echo of worth.

I quietly slipped away from the noise. Away from everyone, my footsteps careful on the stairs leading to the dark seclusion of the upper floor.

I found a wardrobe closet crawled inside and pulled the door shut, hugging my knees to my chest.

They’ll notice me now. They’ll feel guilty for not getting me a dress, I thought.

But no one was searching for me, not right away.

The sounds of laughter and conversations drifted through the cracks of the dark wardrobe door.

I stayed there, hidden and silent—spiraling, twisting every thought into deeper sharper torment.

Eventually, the door creaked open. My parents stood there, their faces twisted in barely concealed rage and contempt. They fought to keep their masks on. But I could feel it. I could feel their mask about to snap like a fragile twig.

 “What is it!?” My mother spat out.

 My father’s bulging eyes were blood red when he saw me. He was completely still and silent.

My mammy and mama appeared behind them. They knelt down to my level.

 “What’s wrong?” Mammy whispered in my ear.

“I want a dress,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I rubbed my eye with one hand and pointed to my cousin’s dress.

My mother nervously laughed with the sound of irritation.  

my mammy and mama realised that I wanted the same dress as their own daughter.

They took my hand and led me out of the bustling house, away from the noise, away from everyone.

We drove down to the store. I was stunned silent the entire time.

I watch my mama purchase the exact same burgundy velvet dress they brought their own daughter.

When we returned to the house, I wore it.

Nothing changed.

The hollowness now settled in my chest.