Sometimes clothes are more than fabric.
They carry memories. Emotions. Versions of who we were.

🔹 The dress I wore when I finally said “no” — and chose myself.
🔹 The blazer I wore while speaking in public, hands shaking, heart racing — but I did it.
🔹 The old sweater I wore while crying, healing, laughing, surviving.
🔹 The sports bra that made me feel strong for the first time.
🔹 The silk pajamas I wore when I let myself rest — really rest.

Clothing holds energy.
Not just size or style — but states of being.

I don’t always remember what I said in key moments,
but I remember exactly what I was wearing.

Because the body remembers.
The fabric remembers.
And I remember.

Now, I look at certain pieces not as “fashion,”
but as archives of my becoming —
little bookmarks in the story of my life.