Let the Holy Spirit Guide [My Fashion]

On allowing outside sources to complicate my decision-making process.

I’ve been in agony the past few months. Like Chris-Pine-Into-the-Woods-level agony. It all started with a Christy Dawn ad on Instagram that showed me this perfect cap-sleeved dress one would wear while frolicking in a field, on a picnic, or in their fairy garden in their rich backyard. The dress was sold out. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

There’s more to that specific story (coming soon), but the Christy Dawn dress led me down a rabbit hole where I searched for the perfect summer dress. I wanted ankle-length. A deep neckline. A cinched waist. Preferably made of 100% cotton. I visited website after website, scrolling through infuriating umpire waistlines (somehow back in vogue?) and so many puff sleeves (a trend, my sister pointed out, I’ve hated all my life). And I did what every obsessive gal does in these scenarios: I called in my friends.

Growing up Mormon, I relied on my authority figures to confirm or deny my decisions. We had living prophets who guided our life trajectories, local bishops who pronounced us worthy or unworthy, and church leaders who instilled very clear definitions of right and wrong to my people-pleasing brain. I grew used to looking for approval from others, believing they could set me on the correct path. 

I still find myself searching for that approval, even in small decisions, and even as I’ve tried (with therapy) to figure out what I, alone, want. But fashion choices can be a fun neurosis for me—I love diving deep with my friends and sisters about why a certain style might work for us, and picturing where we’ll wear the items we’re coveting. It’s fun, and it’s pointless, and it’s a way to play as adults.

A conversation with my sister that really encapsulates our fashion deep dives.

And, at the same time, I can still get lost in other people’s opinions. Several friends told me they hate cap-sleeves, so they wouldn’t buy the dress I loved. Other friends told me they hate a smocked bodice. Others said the stitching was weird on a dress I admired. All of this I should be able to take with a grain of salt—who cares, as long as I like it?—and yet their opinions stay with me, influencing my personal purchases. I closed tab after tab, their words echoing in my mind about why I should forget about dresses I once loved. 

On shopping trips with my two sisters and mother, we can often talk each other into buying things we don’t actually want. Last year, for a wedding, I bought a puff-sleeved mini dress because my sisters said it was cute. At my own wedding, I wore a sparkly shift dress to the luncheon that I didn’t like on me, because my younger sister and mother told me they loved it. None of this is their fault—they were telling the truth. I let their opinions trump mine because I tend to assume everyone else knows better than me.

The puff-sleeved dress in question, and a very red sunburn on my chest to boot. Plus my husband, Jake! Yay.

The only picture I can find of the shift dress worn at my wedding luncheon.

But if I pause to really think about it, I know what looks good on me. It is not a puffed sleeve, nor a drop waist, nor a shift dress that’s loose on my torso and tight on my hips. And I know what I like in a dress: a cinched waist at my actual waistline, either a mid-thigh hemline or an ankle-length hemline, and wide straps or even sleeves. I know this. So why is it so hard to trust myself when I need my own opinion most?

I used to pray about decisions, big or small. I was supposed to wait for promptings from the Holy Ghost, in the form of “good feelings” that would point me in the right direction. I’ve come around to the idea that I was the one deciding all along, and yet, I still find myself frozen in moments of decision fatigue: should I go on this trip? Stop by the grocery store? Buy the damn dress? I play out the pros and cons of every moment, so much so that I’m exhausted at my own spastic chaos. 

I’ve read that many post-Mormons suffer from decision fatigue, a small symptom of PTSD that actually manifests as hyper-vigilance. It’s like I’m trying to protect myself from a bad outcome, a mistake, a misstep. But in that process, I’ve also denied myself of what I actually want, and therefore have lost a piece of trust in myself with every decision ignored or handed to someone else. 

In the end—and by that I mean, in this very ongoing process—no one knows my deepest insecurities like myself. And buying something that I don’t like to make someone else happy will only result in regret and the obnoxious return process, or, maybe worse, me wearing the item anyway and feeling bad all night. It’s a waste of time, money, and energy, and those are resources I can’t afford to lose. Regardless of what I’m wearing—even if it’s the simplest of outfits—I’ll be more confident if I choose what makes me happy. I have to repeat it like a mantra: It’s me, not the clothes. Just like it was me, and not the Holy Ghost, who knew what to do.

Praying for you!!!

Abi