When I was a between 11 and 13, I had a few black t-shirts and a pair of black jeans.

Around that time, there was someone in my community who was too old to be attracted to me. It was someone who went to my church, who I saw regularly and couldn’t get away from. He would stand near me at during youth group or at the back of church after the service, and quietly say things to me. One day, he told me I looked good in black.

So I stopped wearing it.

No one wants to give a predatory guy credit for messing with the journey into your personal style. But I was so repulsed at the idea of this guy checking me out when I wore black that I never wanted to wear it again.

I wore black on Valentine’s Day in high school as a form of protest that seemed bigger than one guy’s inappropriate desires, but other than that, I stuck with green, brown, and navy. You know, to disappear.

My personal style kept evolving, but even though it had been years since I’d crossed paths with that guy, and likely never would again, I stayed away from black.

Then in college, I met someone whose favorite color was purple. I never wore purple before I met him. It wasn’t really my thing. But after he hurt me, I got rid of the little purple in my wardrobe, and kept it out of my living spaces, too.

Then, this past year happened.

Things were really, really, hard. I started wearing war paint nearly every day, and it felt great.

I started wearing predominantly black.

It became my uniform. Nearly every day, I wear black. Sometimes a colorful scarf, and some fun socks, but most of my clothes, and my eyeliner, are black.

Things are not so bad as they were, but I haven’t stopped wearing black. That guy was gross, but he was also right. I do look good in black.

I also found myself being drawn to purple. It’s at the opposite side of the color wheel from the color of my eyes, which makes it a complimentary color for me. I haven’t gone nuts and replaced everything in my wardrobe with black and purple, but they’ve kind of been my theme colors this year.

There is an element of grief there. I was grieving the struggle I was in. And finally grieving some past hurts. But bigger than that, I was going back to colors that suit and flatter me, and wearing them again on my terms.

Last year, I did a post on my uniform. This winter, my uniform has evolved a bit. The Chaplain has noticed, and he is a fan. It all comes down to feeling a little badass when things are challenging, and that extra little oomph you get from being in character  – a character that is ready to face the world even if you, underneath, maybe aren’t.

Purple and black are mine again. That feels so good.

Did you read this and think, she doesn’t look very badass in that photo? Yeah, so did I. But I feel like a conqueror, which makes me a badass. Plus, the sweater I’m wearing in the pic is on backwards because that’s what looks good on me, and that’s me flying my rebel flag as well. Photo Credit: Three.